To The Horizon
by I Am The Silver Lining
Summary: God is dead. Amara is, too. And somewhere, far far away, two brothers open their eyes to a new horizon. OR in which God and Amara die and leave their powers to a Sam and Dean in another universe. Their powers awaken after Lucifer is freed. ( God!Sam, Darkness!Dean
1. Chapter 1

Title: A New Horizon

Summary: God is dead. Amara is, too. And somewhere, far far away, two brothers open their eyes to a new horizon.

It all ended quietly. No screams, no thunderous roar or pounding of destruction. Nothing.

God died in a single Moment, between one breath and the next.

And there was _nothing_.

And then the Darkness destroyed _**everything**_.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

The Darkness, Amara, was alone. There was nothing left of her brother's creation. Not a speck of dust or flicker of light. No souls in heaven, for there was no more heaven. Or Hell. Or Purgatory. There was nothing but her and The Empty.

It had been eons since the instant she had destroyed Creation, her brother. And ever since, she had felt nothing but remorse for her actions. A deep rooted pain echoed within her, the jagged edges of her very being aching where her brother was supposed to be. She could feel the traces of where he once was, phantom echos of his Grace along the rip inside her.

Amara's grief was immense, not only for her brother (though he was the majority), but for his creations as well. The Host, and His favored children: humanity. She thought hard over all them, recalling what she had seen and experienced in her short time among them. Hindsite gave her a new perspective, and she could, begrudgingly, see why he loved his creations.

Amara regretted it all. So much. She wished she could go back, rewrite the script and prevent herself from killing her brother. She wished she could bring him back. But not even time was an escape from death for a primordial being such as her and her brother. When they died, they died not only in that instant, but in all time and in all space. No going back from or preventing her mistake.

And so, alone in the Empty, Amara mourned for all she had lost.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

It was longer still, Amara existed alone, her sadness an impenetrable force.

But then, so long after everything had ended, she felt something. A flicker, a whisper of light. Of Grace.

The Darkness grasped desperately at the flicker of light, cradling the small wisp in the center of her being. She weeped from unbelievable joy at the feel of Grace, the smallest of fragments of Him.

She cradled and nurtured the wisp for ages, urging it to grow and _live_. But it soon proved futile. The Grace, while Him, held nothing of Him. No consciousness, no thoughts or feelings flitted about the Grace. It was stagnant and dead in her grasp.

In that moment, her being shattered once again, the budding hope she had allowed herself to feel ripping away harshly and taking more with it than she could handle.

Losing her brother once was unbearable, losing him a second time was _agonizing._

She could already feel it, her darkness eating away at itself, ripping apart pieces that floated away and became nothing within the vastness of the Empty. She knew, soon, she would join her brother wherever he rested.

It was as if a switch was flipped with that thought. There was no fear in her at the thought of her ceasing to exist, just sheer determination and rage. She couldn't leave everything as it was. She couldn't leave her brother's creations as they were.

Using her power she reached out, hands dipping through time and space to Moment it all ended, the hairsbreadth before the end. And in that Moment she grasped the two things she was looking for and pulled them through.

 _Not like this, never like this…_

She poured the empty Grace within one, her Darkness within another, the fragments aligning within them before settling.

Invigorated, Amara reached back out, grasping at threads and tattered remains of her brother's creation.

Back in the Moment, Amara had destroyed this universe and all in it. It the first of all Verses created. The first thing created within a snap of his His fingers. This universe had been an anchor to the multitude of others and since all had been without it, all would die. Every universe, alternate timeline, mirror dimension would collapse within a matter of time. The shockwave of destruction rippling out like a drop of water in a still pond. Many had been destroyed already. Billions of them collapsing without the tie to the first. But there were few more, and Amara could save those ones for her brother.

So she grasped and she pulled, pouring every ounce and inch of her power along the strings left of Creation and anchoring them once again, to a universe similar, but different to the first. Her power dug through the mesh of its creation, darkness sinking into the fabric and locking the strings into place. With a new anchor in place, the other universes were safe for now. It would buy time for someone to fix them.

But not her.

A wisp of Darkness cradled the two fragments of Creation and Destruction, power drained and will to continue gone. With the last bit Amara had left, she pushed the two fragments along the strings and into the the new anchor universe.

Amara faded away, echos of her brother's Grace lulling her into an unfamiliar darkness. And for the first time in a long time, she felt joy.

God is dead. Amara is, too. And somewhere, far far away, two brothers open their eyes to a new horizon.


	2. Chapter 2: In The Beginning

Chapter 2: In the Beginning...

Summary: ...There was SAM.

The church shook around them, pieces of rock and plaster falling from the ceiling. Cracks webbed through the pillars as the Grace of Lucifer poured out of the opening to the cage, shaking the building at he screeched in victory. Freedom.

Sam and Dean stumbled around, fists full of each other's shirts as they fought to stay upright. The other was pressed against their ears in a futile attempt to block the noise. Their eyes scrunched up against the light, the burn of unfiltered Grace in their retinas.

Sam was certain that Dean was yelling his name, but he couldn't hear it over the ringing of Lucifer's voice, a voice he could _hear_. He could hear the words, the screaming of wicked glee, of unending rage, of overwhelming _relief_.

 _Freedom_. _**Freedom.**_ He chanted it over and over, louder and louder until Sam was sure his brain would melt out of his head through his ears.

And just when Sam was sure it was the end, that this monumental blunder of his would finally cash in his one way train ticket to Hell, something _shifted_.

It was the strangest feeling, like someone running warm fingers along his insides, or that feeling you get when you drink cool water after a hot day and you swear the cold water is rolling down your ribs like a waterfall. The feeling filled him up, from his toes, to the very tips of his fingers. He could feel it behind his eyes and along the edges of his ears and slithering up along his back.

Sam felt everything, all the things around and in him. He could feel each individual atom in the air, the blades of grass outside, the movement of the Earth under his feet and the pull of gravity that carried it around the Sun. Information crashing into his brain, jumbled up and disorienting.

Lucifer's voice became clearer and clearer, the Grace becoming less painful to him. He was rushed with the strangest feeling of familiarity among the chaos of it all, like coming across a smell that brought you back to that one day in third grade when your childhood crush hugged you and their scent surrounded you.

Everything happened in the span of a second, the feeling suspended in the infinite space between the ticks of the clock.

And it freaked him the fuck out.

Next thing he knows, the warmth within him reaches out and pulls.

And, to the world around them, Sam and Dean disappeared from the church.

It was a gradual thing. It happened so slowly, creeping up at him from behind that he never took notice of it. Like someone steadily applying pressure on someone's whole body, they adjusted, adapted, and only noticed when one thing set off a chain reaction that linked all the symptoms together like a red thread on a bulletin board.

Both Dean and Sam agreed not to think too hard on how they got into that plane after Lucifer was freed. They chalked it up to angels and then firmly put it in one of those 'if we don't acknowledge it, it will go away' categories.

Going to Chuck's house next was an experience. When Sam came face to face with him, things got… trippy. He really didn't have the words for it.

His heart hammering in his body, a burn of anger and anxiety pulled at his chest, like hands pushing out against his ribs, reaching for the prophet.

Chuck had gotten a glazed look in his eyes at this, staring off at a point over Sam's shoulder like he was seeing a whole other thing. A soft, sad smile crossed his face, like a sick man at peace on his deathbed. But the look left his face just as quickly before he refocused on the two brothers.

He explained what had happened after Castiel had shoved Dean through time and space to the church in Ilchester. Cas had died, smote by Raphael. 'Exploded like a waterbloon of chunky soup' was how he put it, and it was a visual Sam could had easily lived without.

The burn in his chest was pressing harder and harder by the second, he fought against it, trying to calm down. It was distracting, and Dean was beginning to notice all was not ok with his brother.

The angels showing up was a welcome distraction. Or, it would have been., had the burn not started reaching for _them_ , too. Sam spent the whole time breathing deep, shoving down his anger and panic into the deepest part of him he could. Slowly, the burn receded until it was just a soft, barely-there feeling in his chest.

After that, he forgot about it for a awhile. Between trying to talk to Dean about what happened and getting rebuffed, then _Becky_.

Less said about that, the better.

 _ **Yikes**_.

But then the message from Chuck, the Michael's sword, and then him confessing to Bobby and the… conversation after.

God, that had hurt. Bobby's words ripping into body like hooks and yanking away, taking flesh and bone with it. And it hurt worse, because Bobby had _every right_ to say those things, to tell Sam to get out of his life and never come back. He had _every right._

So Sam walked, out of the hotel and to the nearby church, desperate for a moment to gather himself. He made it to the church, but didn't go in, sitting down on the front steps and forcing himself to breathe deeply and evenly. A storm raged in his head and everything hurt. He felt raw, like every layer of skin had been peeled back and his innards bared to the elements. Every gust of wind, every laugh from kids playing in the street, the birds, the cars and trees. It _hurt_. Because he knew that there was every chance that it would all not be here soon, that everything would die and it was _his fault_.

It took him awhile to see it, to separate his own feelings from what was being… projected? He didn't have the word for it. But it was there, a feeling of wrong, gross, twisted and nasty. It had mixed so well with what he was already feeling that he hadn't noticed it until he had forcibly calms himself down and realized it wasn't him. And instantly feels like an idiot.

He had been in the presence of demons for a long time now, he knew the feeling of them. His psychic powers allowed him to feel their presence for months now and he had been the fool to let one slip under his nose at the worst moment.

As Sam booked it back to the hotel, he tried to pinpoint the moment his demon alarms began blaring and he couldn't. His mind was just too jumbled up to think right. Now all he could think of was that there were demons about and Lucifer was out and he controlled demons so what if the demons were there on his orders and oh shit oh shit _oh shit!_

He made it back just in time to see Bobby on the floor and get slammed in the face by a phone.

Fucking _Meg_.

She kicked him in the nuts and taunted him about his demon powers. He got beat up some more and then, after Dean ganked the other demon, she fled. Oozing out of her meat suit like a genie in a bottle. They stared for a second at the dead body before there was a rush of movement.

Bobby. Fuck, _Bobby_.

They got him to the ER, but they couldn't stay no matter how much they wanted to. They had to get to the sword before the demons. So they get there, the demons are dead, but the angels are there.

Dean is the Michael Sword. The true vessel of Michael.

Zacharia taunts Dean, plays on his empathy for humanity's survival, digs his fingers into Dean's weak points to make him consent to be the vessel. But Dean says no to Zacharia, so the angel points a finger to Sam and mimes shooting.

Sam could feel the power -the Grace- in an instant, pressing against his shins and pushing, snapping at the bones. But… nothing gives.

Sam is angry. Angry at Zacharia for what he was doing. Coercing consent _wasn't consent_. It was a violation, one that Sam found himself disgusted and enraged by. It was renegade to the foundation of angelic principals. Without consent, they were as good as demons.

 _How dare he_.

The burn within Sam slithers down his legs, filling flesh and bone and batting away Zachariah's Grace like a human would an annoying nat.

The angel frowns at him and tries again, with the same results.

"What's wrong, Feathers? Can't get it up?" Dean snipps with a feral grin. "You know they have pills for tha-" He was cut off as Zachariah turned his Grace on him and brought him to his knees, coughing up globs of blood. He surged towards Sam, his hand gripped tightly around Sam's neck, pinning him to the wall of the storage unit.

"What have you done, Sammy?" Zachariah spat, a strange, sickly glint in his eye. He then grinned, lightly patting his cheek with the hand that wasn't choking him, like he was indulging a child. "An abomination like you," he tutted, "your soul is so disgusting not even my Grace is willing touch it."

And, well damn, if that didn't hit an open wound and pour the salt in.

He squeezed out a few garbled words from his compressed larynx. But the words "go fuck yourself" didn't need to be perfectly articulated to get the message across.

Before Asshole-With-Wings could say anything, there was a bright flash of light, and the hand disappeared from his throat. Sam blinked away the dark spots from his vision and looked down to see Dean holding his hand against the angel banishing symbol. The symbol which he, apparently, drew with the blood he had been coughing up.

Sam yanked Dean to his feet before hauling him over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. He booked it out of the storage locker, closing it up hastily behind him and vowing to come back to deal with the dead bodies.

He sat Dean down against the Impala and checked him over for what Zachariah had done. Dean grumbled and groaned, batting away Sam's hands and muttering something along the line of 'mother hen.'

He finds nothing, so he hauls Dean to the nearest ER and tells them that his brother just started coughing up blood. They take him back, and Sam stands in the hall, watching as the gurney pushes through the doors, taking Dean out of view.

A nurse ushers him into the waiting room and he stays there until a doctor comes and finds him.

"Mr Price? Brother to Dean Price?" the doctor asks and Sam nods. The doctor tells him that Dean's got an Esophageal rupture and needs surgery pronto. He goes along, filling out the information needed, the (fake) social and card numbers, etc. Dean is rushed into surgery and Sam is left waiting for even longer. Anxiety turns in his stomach, burning in his chest and constricting around his lungs. His breath comes out in short, painful pants and he has a headache that would rival the day after his worst benders.

His body shudders and he tries to himself to calm down once again, that overwhelmed feeling creeping back into his gut.

He just wants Dean to be fixed, to be happy. He made the biggest blunder, he had chosen a demon over his own brother and freed the Devil from his cage. And his actions already had disastrous consequences. Cas was dead, Bobby was stabbed and Dean was lying in surgery, getting his fuckin throat stitched back together because some wigged dick decided to rip it open because Dean was being cheeky.

 _He wouldn't have been there if Sam hadn't released Lucifer_ …

God, what had he done? He just wanted to fix everything so bad; he wanted Dean to be fixed, he wanted Bobby healthy and whole again, he wanted Castiel back, he wanted _he wanted_ _ **he wanted**_ **-**

The doctor came back not long later, looking rumpled and more than a little disbelieving. They told him that Dean was fine, wrong diagnosis. Only a roughed up throat, they said.

So Dean was released with only some painkillers and throat lozenges, told to take it easy and let his throat heal up before he started yodeling or anything. Dean put on his best smile for the nurses and the two walked out of the building.

Later that night, doctors would be absolutely baffled when they found that all their patience in the ER and the rest of the hospital were miraculously healthy and healed of any and all ailments.

They got back to Bobby quickly, Dean gunning the gas and not saying a word. They got back just in time for the doc to give the verdict.

Bobby would walk again.

After a considerable amount of physical therapy and medication, of course. He would still be destined for the wheelchair for a few months until the damage was fixed.

Bobby stopped him as he was walking out, letting Sam know that it was the demon that cast him out, not Bobby himself. He would never abandon Sam. It soothed a small bit of the ache in Sam's chest, and damn near brought him to tears. But he gave Bobby a thankful smile, even as his eyes grew a bit damp. Bobby gripped a bit more before booting them out of the room. The brothers headed to the impala.

"You know, I was thinking maybe we could go after the Colt." Sam started, but Dean was quick to cut him back, his voice rough an hoarse, like sandpaper on a rusty surface. He told Sam that he was humoring Bobby, that he had little to no hope left even though he'd keep fighting.

The fact that Dean's eyes were wet really hit him. He had made his brother cry. Even if the tears hadn't fallen, they were still there.

The burn, the burn was back.

"What can I do?" he whispered, his throat tight and his chest aching.

"Honestly?" Dean replied, "nothing."

The last nail in the coffin was when Dean told him that he didn't trust him anymore.

And damn, if that didn't hurt like a sonovabitch.

The words stabbed out and hit along the hairline fractures inside him, shattering and splintering him to pieces. He understood where Dean was coming from, he really did. Sam fucked up, majorly. He tossed his brother aside like trash and went out on his own like he could face down the world and come out on top.

 _Reckless...Selfish... Arrogant..._

It whispered past his ears in Bobby's voice, echoing the demon that had been in his body.

God he had fucked up.

He had hurt Dean, the one he had sought vengeance for, the one he had fought and defended. The first one he had thought about when that first bit of demon blood crossed his lips and the last one he thought about when he stood over Lilith's empty shell. He'd do anything, give anything, for him. And he had _Let. Him. Down._

And in such a disastrous way.

Sam could feel the burn flare brighter as Dean walked away and got into the Impala without another word.


	3. Chapter 3: All Encompassing

Chapter 3: All Encompassing

Summary: Sam feels the burn

It was three days after the shit show that cracked the Devil's cage open; Sam and Dean stood in Bobby's hospital room as the man rolled around in his wheelchair, grumbling loudly. His grouches consisting of copious amount of complaining, finely dusted with curses crass enough to make even the most hardened of sailors blush.

Dean looked amused at the griping, giving Bobby a lopsided grin.

"No worries, man. Doc says you'll be up and kicking ass in no time." Dean said, prompting a glare from Bobby.

"You're not the one on their ass in a wheelchair after impersonating a pincushion, boy." Bobby snapped, causing Dean to smile again, holding his hands up in surrender.

After awhile of watching the endless entertainment that was Bobby, the boys stepped out of the room for a moment. The smile fell off Dean's face as soon as they got out, his demeanor shifting into something a bit more cold.

"He's going to be ok, Dean." Sam offered weakly. He'd been walking on eggshells around his brother since their talk in the parking lot, finding it difficult to say anything when Dean kept up his apathetic behavior towards him. Dean nods to him, not looking overly convinced. It was then that the boys heard Bobby yelling in his room.

They barged in, guns drawn just as Bobby slapped his phone closed.

"River Pass, Colorado."

The battle with War was, if Sam could admit, was a huge shit show. Almost as bad as that night in Ilchester.

It had started when the two had walked into River Pass (the Impala left at the broken bridge leading into town), eyes peeled for anything. But there was nothing. And that had been the strange part.

There was no people around: no kids playing in the park, pedestrians bustling from shops or from work, no animals. It was as if every living thing had vanished between Rufus's call and their arrival.

They had been eyeballing Rufus's wrecked truck when Ellen snuck up on them and put them through their paces. Sam got a chuckle out of the bitch slap she gave Dean, but her scolding after damped it down real quick.

Things went downhill from there.

The civilians-turned-hunters, the town full demons, and Jo and Rufus were missing. Sam and Dean headed out for guns and salt, but not before a bit of verbal sparring in which Dean wants Sam to stay inside, away from the demons. He didn't say it in those words, but Sam knew what he was implying, and fuck if it didn't make him angry. More at himself than anything.

Grabbing the salt and placing it quietly in the bag, Sam was lost in thought.

This whole thing felt off. Sam had residual abilities from when he was hopped up on demon blood, and his demon radar was one of them. But he didn't feel any demons around for miles. It was frustrating.

His frustration became worse when two men - fuck, not even men, they were fucking _teenagers_ \- came into the store sporting demon eyes.

Sam could feel a migraine coming on as his eyes recognized them as demons, but his gut screaming that all was not right and that the kids were as human as any. His stomach turned from nerves and he could feel that familiar burn in his chest. And suddenly he could feel it, like there was a film over his eyes, itchy and irritating. He longed to reach up and pull it away from his eyes. So he did. Fingers came up, the tips of them burning as he grabbed whatever was covering his eyes and ripping it away like the sticky spider webbing you see in movies.

The illusion parted away and suddenly he could see clearly once more. The inky blackness melted away to show two pairs of apprehensive, fearful eyes that scanned the store cautiously.

Sam ducked and kept quiet, his fingertips rubbing together as the teens walked further into the store. One of the two moved to the counter, his back facing the isle Sam was in. Without thinking much on it, Sam lunged, one arm coming into a choke hold, the other scraping at the space in front of the teen's eyes with burning fingers.

The boy yelled, trying to throw Sam off of him, but failing under Sam's larger bulk and greater experience.

Sam heard more yelling from behind him and the ' _shink_ ' of an unsheathed knife.

Acting quick, the hunter yanked away whatever it was manipulating the kid's vision before throwing him away just in time to catch the flailing arm of the other teen, who had come up behind him.

The burn inched its way further into his hand, the heat flaring in his palm as he set his hand against the kid's forehead and ripped the stuff off like seran wrap. He probably wasn't as gentle as he should have been, because the kid fell to the floor with a yell, clutching his face.

A whisper of cloth was his only warning before he was being barreling into, knocked into, and over, one of the shelves, causing the whole thing to topple over. The first kid was swinging like crazy with the knife, his movements frantic and untrained.

"Wait! Wait stop! Im not a demon!" Sam yelled, batting off the kid's piss-poor knife jabs. He got the kid into another headlock, holding him down as he chanted over and over that he wasn't possessed.

"You were under some sort of spell that made you see demons! I took it off!" he yelled, the kids struggles slowing down as his words seemed to come to him.

"Bullshit!" the youth yelled, "Let go of me you black-eyes son of a bitch!"

It takes a good few minutes to get him to calm down enough to talk some sense into, along with his friend that had been laying on the floor cradling his head.

"So the whole town wasn't possessed? We were just hallucinating?" The first kid, Derek said, his face ashen as he realized all the implications of that. Todd, the second kid, looks ready to throw up.

"How can you tell?" Todd asks, looking lost.

"Ive been around the supernatural long enough to know when something aint right." Sam explained from where he was kneeling in front of the two.

"An the" Derek makes a vague, flapping motion around his eyes, "How'd you do that?"

"As i've said, ive been around." Sam lied. But how was he supposed to tell them that he had no clue himself? He had just felt it, then _pulled_.

The kids were quiet for a moment.

"What now?" Todd asked quietly, both of them looking at Sam like he had all the answers for everything.

"Now, i need to get the spell off of everyone and see what cast it." Sam replied, his voice strong. He needed to be sure, certain, to reassure these boys nothing bad would happen under his watch.

Before anything could be further said, the door chimed again.

The teens tensed up, looking at Sam with panic. He placed a finger over his mouth, shushing them, before adjusting where he was kneeling so he could look into the corner mirror.

A Familiar figure walked in and called out "Sammy!" causing Sam to relax.

"Dean," he stood, moving over to his brother.

But he was greeted with the butt of a shotgun to the face.

Sam could feel his nose crack under the hard material. Stumbling back, Sam gripped his nose, yelling at Dean for being a dick. The resulting fight was difficult, Dean yelling about demons and Sam quickly put together than his brother thought he was possessed. Sam yelled at the teens to stay away as he fought his brother, not wanting the two to get caught between two seasoned hunters.

"Dean! I'm not possessed! The town is under a curse!" Sam yelled as he parried a punch from Dean. He continued to yell out the inconsistencies: how salt and holy water didn't work on the demons, how exorcisms didn't work. Both were huffing by the end, parted far enough not to be able to touch one another. Both sported new shiners, Sam had a busted lip and a new set of aches in his body, Dean was less bruised but huffing harder and looking at Sam like he couldn't decide between hearing him out or going in for another few swings. Sam gave his brother a morose look before admitting the last fact:

"I can't _feel_ any demons, Dean." he said quietly, both prepared and not for Dean's sharp look. After a few tense moments of stand off, Dean relaxed his stance and nodded.

"What do you think it is? Witch?" he asked to which Sam shook his head.

"No it doesn't feel like it." he edged towards Dean, reaching out slowly towards his face with tingling fingers. Dean was giving him a hard stare as he did this, glaring right into his eyes as if to challenge him to try something.

Sam's fingers met with the filmy substance over Dean's eyes and gently pried it away causing Dean to blink several times. His brother rubbed at his eyes with one hand before looking around again, his stance relaxing further now that he wasn't seeing demons at every turn.

After Sam explained what went on in the store, the kids Todd and Derek, the four hightailed it out of the shop and back to base. It was only halfway there that one of the kids, Derek, spoke up.

"Wait, if we don't have the spell on us anymore, and the spell caused this dude to see you as a demon without it, how are your people going to see the four of us?"

Shit, that was a good point.

Dean and Sam traded glances before the elder indicated his head towards an abandoned house. The four traveled inside, the kids going to raid the kitchen to find anything useful as Dean and Sam talked.

"You're demon powers are still there? I thought the fight with Lilith cleaned you out?" there was an accusatory tone to Dean's question and a hard look in his eye.

Sam sighed, "I can't do what I could before, Dean. There is no mind i can just feel when demons are around."

If anything, Dean's look got harsher and Sam could practically see what he was thinking.

"I havent drank any demon blood, Dean! After everything, I learned my lesson."

"Have you?" Dean bit out. Sam felt anger and sadness well up in his chest, burning through his body.

"If you actually think that i-!" Sam's voice cut off as he ground it teeth together to keep the traitorous waver in his voice from slipping out. He shoved at Dean, barreling past him quickly before he did something he would regret.

He was angry, so angry that Dean thought he'd go down that road again, that he'd think he'd fall that far. A nagging voice in the back of Sam's head whispered that Dean was valid in his concerns, that he had fallen and chosen evil over him before. Sam banished the thoughts as he stormed from the house and down the road.

He kicked a few rocks across the sidewalk, unsatisfied with the small act of violence. He wanted to punch something, to fight until he was breathless and his body ached as much as his heart did.

He was quite content to stew in his dark, sorrowful thoughts by himself, thank-you-very-much. But the world didn't give breaks for sulking and Sam quickly found himself surrounded by people holding shotguns at him. Sam was quick to remember that he had left his shotgun at the house and only had a few knifes on him as weapons. Not that he wanted to hurt these people, but he'd feel much better having something with a bit more range than his knifes. Sam raised his hands up in surrender as the group closed in. He recognized two of the people as Rufus and Jo and tried to call out to them. But anything he would have said was quickly cut off by the butt of a gun knocking into the back of his head and knocking him out cold.

Sam woke up in a dark room. It was warm and he could hear the crackle of fire off to his left. He could also feel the hard wood of the chair under him, and the tightness of the bindings around his wrists and across his chest. He tested the bindings, pulling at them to find they were well tied and held him down firmly in place.

He looked up blearily at the room, his eyes squinting as dark spots danced along his vision. He had a killer headache, and Sam could thank the small mercy of the room being dark enough not to hurt.

He spotted Jo and Rufus immediately, standing outside of what appeared to be a devil's trap that he was in. Both of their eyes were clear and looking at him in contempt. He had to quickly remind himself that they saw a demon looking out, not Sam.

"Jo, Rufus, you got to listen-" his words were cut off with a firm backhand from Rufus.

"Shut up, you evil son of a bitch." Rufus growled out in his low-timber voice, which reminded Sam of the Impala starting up. Jo threw water on him, coating his face and chest.

It was… nice. The water brought with it a pleasant hum under his skin. It dripped down his face and soaked his hair, carrying away the aches in his head and eyes. He swallowed the bit of water than had gotten into his mouth reflexively, eyes fluttering as the burn that had been ever presence in his chest seemed soothed, jagged edges of pain rolling away with every drop of water. He let out a low sigh as the burn dimmed down to a pleasant warmth.

Sam opened his eyes to the two hunter's confused faces.

"What was that?" he asked, but he already had a feeling. The hunters didn't respond, just moving forward as one, Rufus pulling out salt and pouring it over his face and into his mouth as Jo held his head back. He tried to talk to them, but between spitting out salt and keeping his eyes closed so none would get in them, it wasn't going well.

He managed to spit out only 'cursed' and 'spell' before they stopped, gagging on half dissolved salt. Jo splashed him once more before the two relented and pulled away. Sam lept on the chance.

"Rufus, jo, listen! The town's been cursed, there is no demons! Just a spell making us see them." He rushed out, pulling at the binding in ernest. The two pulled away, whispering furiously to one another for a moment before moving back.

"How can we trust you, demon? You expect us to believe your lies?" Jo demand, gripping the jug of holy water like her life depended on it.

"The salt and the holy water aren't working because I'm not a demon," Sam argued, "we were able to pull the spell off me and Dean and two other kids, Todd and Derek." The names had the two hunters glancing at one another. "But now it makes us appear like demons to others."

They looked like they were coming around, but Sam knew he'd need that little extra push, so he started reciting an exorcism.

"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas-" he recited it, all the way to the end. By the last word, Jo and Rufus looked convinced, but still warry.

"How'd you get the spell off?" Rufus asked.

"I'm not sure on the specifics, but i was able to pull it off. It's centered around the eyes. Feel for it, it should feel like webbing or a film." The two patted around their face, their eyebrows furrowing as they felt nothing. "Unbind me, i can take it off."

That was the wrong thing to say, as both hunters were right back on the defensive and Sam wanted to groan in dismay.

"I just proved i wasn't a demon, guys, Im Sam Winchester. Look under my shirt, my anti-possession tattoo is still in place, no break in the sigil. I recited the exorcism and I'm immune to salt and holy water. Come on guys." He pleaded. Rufus gave Jo a long look and went and grabbed the shotgun that was close by, causing Sam to stiffen. Jo pulled out a knife, walking forward slowly.

Jo cut through his bindings as Rufus stood at the ready, shotgun pointed at Sam's head.

Sam stood, splaying his fingers outwards, showing no ill intent. He waited a second before moving one hand forward slowly. He stilled for only a moment as Rufus pumped his shotgun, ready to unload it in Sam's head if he so much as twitched wrong.

The warmth in Sam's chest was slowly coming back to a burn, the ache creeping down his arm and into his hand as he focused all he could on what he _knew_ was there. His fingers tingled as they connected to something right in front of Jo's eyes, the filmy substance he had felt a handful of times before.

He gently pulled back, focusing on the feel of the spell under is fingers, the sounds, the smells and tastes of it in the air. It was gross, slimy against him now that he was focusing on it. He could feel it everywhere and in everyone. Like inky sap that surrounded everything. It tasted like rotten apples and the irony taste of blood, it smelled worse.

He pulled it, not only away from Jo's eyes, but out of her completely, like pulling a wraith from a body and casting it aside. The burn hummed pleasantly in his chest as some of the wrongness in the room faded.

Jo blinked, one hand coming up to rub at her eyes.

"Holy shit." She said breathlessly, looking stricken. She looked over to Rufus, who had frozen. He stared at the both of them and Sam kept his hands raised. The older hunter's eyes were wide and he looked ready to blow them both away now.

"Remember Rufus, the spell is no longer on her, so it's going to make you see her as a demon." He could feel the burn traveling up his chest and into his neck, like lava moving through his veins, up into his throat and coating his tongue as he spoke.

" _Let me help_ ," he said softly. He could feel the burn in his mouth, covering and merging with his words as they escaped, resonating in a way it never did before. But it seemed to work. Rufus lowered his gun, his eyes never leaving Sam's.

Sam repeated his actions with Rufus, slow and steady pulling the spell away from his eyes and out of his body.

The older hunter slumped in relief when it was done.

"Holy shit.." his words echoing Jo's. They were all quiet for a moment, processing what just happened.

"What's the plan?" Sam looked up from where he had been staring at the sigils written on the floor. It was Rufus that had spoken, looking to Sam for the next move. Sam was slightly humbled and flattered that a seasoned hunter like Rufus would look to him, even with their many years difference in age.

"We need to get more people free of the spell if we can, then we need to find the source. Between the three of us, we should be able to get the rest of the people here uncursed."

"How'd you do it?" Jo spoke up, "How'd you break the spell." Sam quieted and shrugged his broad shoulders.

"I don't really know. I just did."

"Did it have something to do with those psychic powers that yellow-eyed demon gave you?" Rufus spoke up and Sam flinched.

"I didn't know you knew about that." he mumbled.

"Ain't hard to piece together the facts after everything." the older hunter rumbled, crossing his arms. Sam gave him a searching look from the corner of his eye, wary. Rufus waved his hand, "Ain't matter to me where you got it, boy, you're using it for good now. To help people, that's all that matters to me." Sam felt himself relax a bit as Jo echoed the sentiments after her initial look of surprise at Rufus's first words. Ellen hadn't told her of what was revealed at the Devil's gate apparently, so his psychic powers were news to her.

The three crept out of the room and searched the house, getting into a few scrapes with others as Sam pulled the spell off them. Their little group of three turned into four, then five and six. Seven stood with Sam in the end, not including himself. They all looked to him for guidance, and Sam couldn't help feeling pleased that they followed him, how right it felt. He was so used to following people: his dad, his brother, and even Bobby. It was surprising how well he slotted into the leadership role, even with the hunters at his back.

The group scoured the town, picking up a few stranglers here and there that were hidden in homes or sheds. Sam could feel them, the burn in his chest guiding him towards each like an advanced game of Hot n' Cold. Seven turned to fifteen before Sam was ready to head back to the house Dean had hid in with the kids.

When he got there, he found the kids, but no Dean.

"Shit, where did he go?" Sam asked Todd.

"He said he wanted to check on the base, where someone named Ellen was at." the kid explained. Sam ran a hand over his face, watching as the kids reunited with the people who had been in their initial group, one of them being Derek's father.

They all looked to Sam when the reunion was finished, waiting for his orders.

Confidence filled Sam's chest, the burn humming pleasantly as he laid out the plan to the others for when they approached the base.

"Incapacitate only, do not shoot to kill. And only shoot if they become aggressive." His voice was resonating again, the warmth coating his tongue like fine brandy, exhaling and hanging in the air like a hot breath in snowy weather.

The group moved, heading out into the street and towards the church that the others were in. They made it just in time to see two figures rush out, gunfire ripping out behind them. Sam dashed forwards, signaling the group behind him to stay put. He grabbed both by the back of their shirts as they stumbled to the ground in their scramble to avoid the hail fire. Sam hauled the two away from the rain of bullets in an impressive feat of strength, lifting both off their feet as he ducked behind an overturned car.

"Sam?!" oh, shit, one of the people Sam had grabbed was Dean. Sam looked over his brother, looking for injuries of any kind. Dean had a scrape along his temple and rope burns on his wrists, but other than that he was good. Ellen, the other person he had snatched out of the way, was a little worse for ware, with a bullet hole in the back of her thigh. Without really thinking about it, Sam reached out with burning fingers, one over her eyes, the other over her leg.

He pulled out the spell, all the wrongness in her body slipping out and fading away.

Once done, he pulled away, looking down at Ellen as she looked up at him, a look of awe (and reverence?) on her face.

"Sam.." she breathed out like a prayer.

"I got you, Ellen."

Before anything further could be said, the door to the church burst open, and people spilled out. They carried shotguns and rifles and were looking to make a mad dash for it, and take down as many 'demons' with them as possible. It was only a second before the new group spotted Sam's group.

"GET DOWN!" Sam yelled back to them as bullets rocketed from the church group. His group scattered, some falling down and army crawling away, some diving behind cars or over hedges. But one- no, two,- two fell dead on the ground. One was Derek's father, whom the teen clung to even as more bullets came and blood soaked the kid's shirt in frighteningly familiar shapes, in areas not even close to where his father's blood sprayed.

"Derek! Derek run!" Sam shouted, but the kid didn't move. Sam abandoned his spot near his brother and Ellen and ran over, narrowly dodging bullets aimed his way. He threw himself over the kid and his father, feeling as the burn sparked into an inferno in his chest, arching down his spine and over his legs, through his arms and fingers. He could feel it in his head, behind his eyes as he looked down at the two he shielded.

The teen looked up at him with wide, shocked eyes, like Sam had just turned the world upside down on him. Sam looked back, a strange sense of calm rage settling over his body. He placed a hand over both of them and _reached_. The inferno inside of him blooming out; it was burning away the gross, slimy feeling, and casting out the aches he knew shouldn't be there. It pulled at the pleasant warmths he could feel, cradling and cultivating them until they reached back to him and _grew and_ _ **grew**_.

Seconds, minutes, hours, days.. Time seemed suspended in that moment as Sam held the warmths that weren't his against the burning inside of him. He felt like the sun to the trees, the water to the fish, the grass to the grazers, and the breeze to the birds. The burn within him gave and gave, and the warmths around him continued to grow.

It felt like it was all too soon and way too long before Sam blinked and realized, he was no longer where he once was, kneeling on the pavement covered in blood.

He was kneeling in the grass, gunfire was absent, but there was shocked breathing around him. More than one.

Sam looked up and saw that not only was he in a different place, both groups, including Dean and Ellen, were there keeling in the grass, too. And everyone was looking at him. Including the -previously assumed- dead people.

The warmth was still behind his eyes as he looked down at Derek's father.

" _Are you ok?_ " he asked, the resonance deep in his voice. The father nodded slowly, his eyes wide and never leaving Sam. Sam nodded back before releasing both of them.

He looked around, noticing how changed everything looked.

Trees grew high into the sky, grass and flowers grew lush along the ground, and he could hear the faint buzzings of insects. But what was strange was there was buildings. The same buildings as before, but they were overgrown with wildlife. Ivy clung to boards, trees grew from wrecked living rooms, and flowers bloomed along broken apart cement. It looked like those soft post-apocalypse movies, where nature overtakes man made structures.

He looked back to the people, all of them still kneeling and staring at him, looking at him in awe.

All but one.

Dean looked at him with horror, with rage and despair flooding his eyes. Like Sam had just taken everything in the world dear to him and crush it under foot.

Sam didn't understand.

That inky, slimy feeling came back, or at least, he took notice of what was there already. He looked down at his fist where the feeling came from and opened his fingers, revealing a golden ring.

The hour was a blur then. The fire burn inside of him dulled back into a manageable burn and he was able to concentrate. He moved around the groups, making sure the spell was gone and that everyone was ok.

Ellen was healed, the once dead people were on their feet, feeling better than ever. It was a miracle, a miracle that Sam couldn't wrap his head around. He felt like he was overly obtuse, that what he failed to understand was dangling right in front of his face and he was blind to see it.

It all came together when, after all the others had moved on to find shelter for the night, he made his way to his brother. His brother who took a step back from him as he got close.

Sam paused in front of him, hands outstretched to his side.

"Dean-"

"Don't you fucking dare." Dean spat out, venom coating his teeth as he glared hatefully at Sam. "Don't. You. Fucking. Dare." Sam was hurt, Dean's glare ripping into his body better than any knife.

"I don't understand-"

"Don't pull that bullshit on me, you evil sonovabitch." Dean looked ready to both ready to flee and ready to fight in that instance. "I don't know when he said yes or why. Maybe you tricked him or some shit, but i swear to you, i'll find a way to push you out of my brother's body or die trying."

Sam was very confused now.

"What?"

"Don't bullshit me, you feathered dick. Get out of Sam."

"Dean, i am Sam."

"Don't fuck with me, i saw your eyes light up, i saw you heal those people and make the plants and shit grow. Don't try to lie."

"Dean-"

"I just don't know why. Why you, of all angels, would heal them. Why go on with this charade when you should be happy with their deaths? But i don't care right now, i just want you out of him." Dean spat. Sam paused. Dean thought he was an angel, and by how he spoke, he had a specific one in mind. Sam thought hard, thinking back to all the things Dean was pointing out: The healings, the plants… the eyes?

It was like a dam ripping apart and the threads connected into one giant web. The burn, the feelings in his body and the new senses he had.

It was _Grace_.

But whos? And why did he have it? He had a thought, a nagging feeling in the back of head that whispered the name he never wanted to hear.

Breathless, he spoke to Dean, not wanting to hear what he'd say but needing the confirmation.

" _Who am I then?_ "

" _ **Lucifer.**_ "

But no, that didn't feel right.

"No, Dean, i'm not Lucifer, why would you think that?"

"DON'T LIE!" Dean roared, his fists balling up. "I know about you and him, i know he's your true vessel! Dont lie to me and tell me you weren't aching to wear him as a meat suit to the big boss fight. I should have seen it earlier," he ran a hand frantically through his hair, his green eyes wild, "I knew something was up ever since we got out of that church. Where you the one who pulled me out and on to that plane?"

"No!" the nagging feeling, "I mean- I don't know!" Sam threw up his hands, his mind racing as he panicked under the wave of new information. "Dean i'm not Lucifer!" he shouted, but Dean wasn't listening anymore, backing away from Sam quickly as he glared right at him with hatred.

"I'll find a way to boot you out, just you see. I'll find a way. Then, i swear to God, I'll kill you." Dean promised before dashing away, presumably to where he'd stashed the Impala.

Sam felt like his world was crashing down around him, the truckload of things piled on from what Dean had said.

Lucifer's true vessel? Like Dean was Michaels? Did that mean he was destined to be the devil? To bring hell fire and torment for all? Was there no preventing what had happened? Was he always meant to open the cage and free the Devil?

Sam could feel himself hyperventilating, his knees shaking and giving out. But he was helpless to stop it. Questions and 'what ifs' raced too fast through his brain, the burning in his chest coming from shortness of breath and anxiety rather than _Grace_ -

 _Grace_.

How did he get Grace? When?

He thought back to the church, the feeling of warmth filling him to the brim and washing away everything but the heat inside.

Did he have Lucifer's Grace within him? Was he who his brother claimed him to be? Would Dean hate him forever? Would he try to kill him? Hunt him like the monster his father always claimed him to be?

He was still panicking, kneeling on the ground when arms wrapped around him and hugged him close. The smell of flowery perfume and polished wood filling his nose as a soft voice soothed over him, fingers carting through his hair and helping him calm down from his panic.

"Ellen." he whispered.

"Im here, baby, i got you." her country drawl washed over his ears as she kept talking to him, walking him back to the present. After awhile, Sam pulled back, wiping at his face. Embarrassment trickled in and he tried to duck his head.

"None of that now," Ellen said, grabbing his chin and making him look up at her. "Now, i don't know what's goin' on but i know you'll find a way through it. You and your brother are the most stubborn bastards i know."

"I don't know how to get past this Ellen." Sam whispered, "Dean thinks im a monster, he-" his words were cut off as Ellen swatted him on the back of the head.

"No he don't. Your brother might have his head stuck far up his ass sometimes but never doubt that he loves you. You'll make it through this."

Sam felt himself calming at her words, relaxing previously tense muscles. He was quiet for a moment, thinking.

"What should i do now? Dean won't let me come near him without shooting." he asked. It was Ellen's turn to delve into thoughtful silence.

"Well," she began, "I think you should find yourself, before you go findin' your brother. It looks like whatever this is," she waved over him," is somethin' new that you need to figure out. Go out, figure it out. Then go home. Dean will be waiting"

Sam looked over Ellen with no small amount of wonder.

"You're right." He said slowly, pieces of a plan fitting together in his mind. He leaned back, out of Ellen's embrace and stood, helping her to her feet.

He looked around at the foliage that he, apparently, created.

He bid Ellen goodbye, passing along one for Jo and Rufus, too. He then headed out, jogging down the road, back to where he knew the Impala had previously been parked. Unsurprisingly, it wasn't there when he got there. But a small bag was. Seems his brother couldn't stand leaving him with nothing, even when he thought an angel was hitching a ride. Inside was a few changes of clothes, one set of fake credentials and a wad of money. All of his more personal items were gone, no doubt safely in his other bag in the back of the impala.

He picked the bag up and slung it over his shoulder. His knives were in place and a handgun was hidden in his belt. He had a golden ring in his fist and a long, paved road ahead of him. Sam heaved a large breath before steeling himself…

...and started walking.


	4. Chapter 4: Road to Revelation

Ch4: Road to Revelation

Summary: Sam Seeks Revelation

Hitchhiking was always a hit or miss sort of game. The person who picked you up could be anyone. Or anything.

The person that happened to pick Sam up was human, thankfully. A kindly old man in a beat up Honda civic who smelled like handmade soap and cigarette ash. There was a "Jesus loves me" bumper sticker on the back and a rosary hanging from the rearview mirror.

Sam wondered what the man would have done, had he known just who he was letting in his car, and admitted the risk of hitchhiking went both ways. Never knew what monster you could pick up.

The burn still hummed under his skin, pulsing in the space between his ears. And the information, the new senses that the burn brought, it was overwhelming. Sam had some experience with senses outside the normal 5 when he was full of demon blood, but this was something else. It was _too much._

Information about everything and everyone flowed into his head like a stream of water, and he had to fight against the flow. It was like stuffing a burst pipe with a spare shirt: difficult and only partially effective. Things still leaked in.

Like how Sam didn't know the man's last name or age, but he knew about the stage three lung cancer and he grew up in Pennsylvania.

The man, Elliot Cage, spoke animatedly about his grandchildren, and how he had one 'about your age'. Which, apparently, was the reason Elliot had stopped. Couldn't stand the thought of leaving him there, in the middle of nowhere.

"What if it had been my grandson, standin' there in the cold? I'd want someone to help him." was what Elliot said when he'd asked. Sam didn't argue or reprimand the man, too grateful to be off his feet for a bit after walking all day.

Elliot had dropped him off at the bus station in town, handing over twenty and a few dollar bills to a flustered Sam, who was trying to refuse the offering.

"Take it for the bus, son, it'd make this ol' man feel mighty better if you did." Elliot had urged, practically shoving the bills in his hands with a surprising amount of force for a man well into his 70s. Sam had taken them with a grateful smile, both humbled and uncomfortable with the man's generosity. He wished he could do something in return, but he had nothing on him he could offer.

The idea flitted into his head quickly, and before he could talk himself out of it, Sam laid a hand on Elliot's shoulder.

"Thank you, Elliot, may you live a long and happy life. You deserve it." Sam said earnestly, focusing inwards towards the burn, calling it forward and into his hand.

It wasn't too different than when he was on demon blood, if anything, calling it forward was easier. The powers leaping to do his bidding.

Elliot smiled to Sam as he concentrated, pooling the heat into his fingertips and sinking it into the older man.

"I've lived a good life, happy as it should. I got to see my grandkids grow up and graduate, and who knows? Maybe i'll still be around when they like lil' ones runnin' around." Elliot said, patting Sam's hand with his own, the sun-spotted, wrinkled hand contrasting Sam's youthful one greatly. There was a soft sadness to the older man, the words said almost in comfort to himself than an explanation to Sam.

Sam realized that Elliot must know of the cancer, and expected his odds of surviving to be null.

"You will," Sam said, certainty in his voice. He pulled his hand away, taking the heat with it. Elliot gave him a smile as Sam slid from the car. Waving off the older man, he walked over to the ticket station and got a one way trip to the farthest town he could.

Not a few weeks later, doctors would be baffled as 76 year old Elliot Cage was completely cancer free, no sign of cell mutation within him. Elliot would reverently claim whilst clutching and kissing his rosary, that the Lord sent an angel to test him, and when had passed, had healed him. His children and grandchildren would give thanks to this angel in their prayers for years to come. Elliot would give thanks until the day he died, at the ripe old age of 102, surrounded by family, from his children to his great great grandchildren there in the end.

Back in the present, just a few days after Sam had taken a bus to Norman, Oklahoma. It wasn't as reclusive of a town Sam would normally prefer, but it's where he decided to start his journey. And it was here he found out some startling new things about the warmth within him.

It was while he was out, diving at some seedy bars and looking for quick cash to pay for a night at a hotel. Hustling pool and cards was easier than ever. He'd let the warmth trickle in, directed to certain players. He was expecting to just… _know_ what they had. Like how he knew of Elliot's cancer, or the ticket master's son's graduate degree in physics, or even the bartenders middle name was Juliet. Random things at random times.

Sam was certain that, if he got ahold of his newer abilities, he could direct them to specific pieces of information.

Where better to practice than a seedy bar on the outskirts of town?

So it was as he was sitting at a poker table, peeking at his cards, that Sam fucked up.

Sam had been wearing his best poker face, cards in hand as he observed the players around him. All men, four older, two around his age. Two of the older men couldn't hold a straight face if they were paralyzed, and one of the younger's faces was so smug Sam was certain it was stuck that way. The rest of the players were decent enough. But only one of the older men showed a decent threat.

Sam had grasped the warmth within him and pushed it through his eyes, willing himself to see the cards, to know their placements in each of the hands. He didn't expect to _see_.

It was like a full out of body experience, like in the medical movies where the person is floating above their comatose body. But Sam was aware of both, could move his body and his… spirit self? Projection? Astral form?

It was the strangest feeling, being aware of two things like that at once. But it was a shared consciousness, one mind in two bodies. Like he hand spontaneously grown five extra limbs. And with the five extra limbs came the sensations: sight, sound, hearing, taste and touch. But the taste and touch were far more muted than the other three. Sam chalked this up to the second him(?) being intangible. The other patrons sure didn't seem to see him.

Sam tested the waters, moving around his second self as he also paid attention to himself and the game. He moved around the table, glancing at the cards in each person's hands as he went. The smug younger one had a decent hand, and so did a few of the others. But the challenging older one (who Sam suddenly knew as Thomas Jones) had a royal flush and would stamp the shit out of every other hand.

Sam folded for the round and kept his money. The others that bet in were soundly thrashed by Jones.

The game went on. Sam #2 kept an eye on Jones' cards. Sam made sure to lose as much as he won, to keep suspicion off him. It wasn't until the last round that things went sideways.

Sam #2 was standing behind Jones, giving sam double vision to his cards when one of the onlookers stepped up.

And _into_ Sam #2.

And suddenly Sam was him.

James McClellan was a 30 year old man with a drab job at the local dentist office. He hated it there, but what he hated more was going home to his awful wife and his awful kids. He was certain they weren't even his, if catching his whore wife in bed with the neighbor was anything to go by. They didn't have his eyes or his hair. Not like him, they looked like that fucker Todd from next door. It filled him with so much anger, so much hatred. Tonight, he was going to do it. Tonight he would _kill them, all them, make kids-watch-go-first-knife-fist-_

Sam flung himself out of the man, the chaotic thoughts that were jumbled around and squishing together, mixed with hatred, glee and _excitement_.

God, the man was aroused at the thought of killing his kids, in front of his wife and neighbor before killing them. He was positively brimming with it. Hard in his pants, shaking in his shoes at the plans and ideas in his head.

Sam felt sick to his stomach, revulsion for what he just experienced and saw. The warmth began to burn again, pushing against the inside of his body outward, trying to escape. And Sam let it.

It was like a dream, one he could only faintly remember when he woke up in the hospital two days later, news that the bar he had been in had leveled to the ground with only one casualty.

That moment he let the burn through his skin. He had moved outwards, his consciousness expanding to such a vast size that Sam had to force himself not to focus on it. He moved his Will with purpose, towards the man. The soul within him flickered, a weak light with darkness that wriggled within it like parasites.

The soul was removed from the man's body with a thought from Him, his Will grabbing the tainted soul unhappily, like someone pinching a dirty sock between two fingertips. He rose up, his being moving upwards and outwards as he looked around for a solution.

Burning, screaming below; Sam looked into the darkness and saw Hell. For that is what it surely was; it stank of sulfur and rang with the chorus of tortured souls.

Sam threw the soul into the pit where it let out a shriek as demons rose up, sinking their claws and teeth into it, dragging it down into the deep.

Sam hovered there, feeling everything around him. Now that he had done his initial goal, his focus wavered and things began to slip in. The trickle slowly turning up into a roaring flood of information that ripped into him, knocking him off kitler.

Sam lost his grasp on something he didn't even know he had been holding and that was when the earth itself shook where his body laid. His consciousness bloomed out further than before, brushing against the layers of Creation before stopping against one. It was bright and full of love, pure and unconditional love.

He could feel others there, singing in shock and excitement as he reached into the light layer, brushing over something he would swear were feathers. Emotions trickled up fingertips, hope and love scorching through him, directed _at_ him. So much of it, it was overwhelming. It was frightening.

Sam yanked himself away, self-loathing winning out in the face of such impossible love. He didn't deserve it, it wasn't for him.

So he pulled himself back, far back, back to his body. The thing that had bloomed within him withered and shriveled up, sinking back within his being as his whole self shrunk back, folding in and over itself in impossible ways until he slammed back into his body at full velocity.

And everything went dark.

Sam woke in the hospital, those two days later. He was groggy and disoriented, his skin felt too tight and his head pounded like a thousand drums. He burned through the pain medicine faster than the nurses could administer it.

He could barely think of what had happened, every time he did it was like his hold slipped on something within him and caused the furniture around him to shake and the lights to flicker. The heat would burn behind his eyes and down his arms, scorching the blankets and sheets.

Sam was let out after a few days, the police still lingering around too much, their eyes trained on his every movement. They believed he started the fire, and while they weren't wrong, they were not correct either. But with no proof and a whole bar full of witnesses willing to talk about the intense poker game he was in, they were forced to let up.

He booked it out of town shortly after and ended up only about an hour away, in Garber, Oklahoma. Far enough to be out of that police district, but close enough to monitor the situation. Sam was still freaked out over what had happened, and he wanted to keep an eye on the bar's location and who showed up after. Maybe some things would fall into place after, and he could understand just what was going on with him.

The heat, the _Grace_ within him. It was strong, and Sam didn't know why he had gotten it, and he didn't know how to control it.

It was very different than his demonic powers, in feeling and strength. It was so much _more_. Sam had to struggle to rein it in, the smallest of thoughts sending the burn out and changing _something_.

The walls of his hotel room going from and ugly yellow to a soft coral pink, holes in his cloths mended instantly, things disappearing when he was done with them, only to reappear as soon as he needed it again. It was alarming and Sam decided staying in his room was the best course of action. It would not bode well to have another outburst. Maybe he'd level the town next time he crossed someone with less than stellar intentions.

Sam was glad he stayed in instead of going out, or else he would have been at ground zero for the _horde_ of angels that came down to the bar's location. Hundreds of them, all in vessels, standing around the burnt remains of the building. The news broadcasted it, selling it as some sort of protest or homage gathering, but Sam, who had been watching, knew who and what they were as soon as he laid eyes on them.

Sam panicked as he connected a few dots together, what he had felt during his outburst, the _feathers_... it was an angel he had touched.

Sam fled the state before the horde got lucky and spotted him.

He carved his way through central America, heading west to Oregon, hoping to disappear in the woods somewhere.

He ran into trouble, of course. Demons spotted him in some little town and tailed him to the next. The resulting confrontation was enlightening and catastrophic at the same time.

"Sam Winchester," one black-eyes asshole hissed, "we've been looking for you."

Shit.

He barely had a moment to move away and the demons were on him, dozens of them sneering and grinning with glee as they no doubt thought of the praise they would receive for bringing him in. He was the one who killed Lilith and dozens of other demons with his mind, the boy with the demon blood, and Lucifer's vessel. He didn't doubt that whoever brought him in would be sitting pretty for the rest of their existence. In Hell at least. Maybe with a nice pat on the back from the pro-apocalypse angels.

So he fought hard, like the hounds of Hell were nipping at his heels as he did. Which they were, literally.

It was when he was decking some chump demon in the face that it happened.

He threw the punch, same as always. But this time, the warmth surged up his arm and pulsed through his hand.

Next thing he knew, the demon was crumpled to the ground dead 15 feet away, a smoking, melted mess where his face once was. Sam, and the other demons, stared for a hot second. Then everything burst back into action, some demons running at him and some away from him. Sam knew he couldn't let word of whatever was going on with him hit Hell, he had to keep this contained until he could figure it out himself.

Sam let the burn course through his body, the ground shaking under his feet as it traveled from where it was nestled in his chest to his feet and spreading up to his head, heating the space behind his eyes.

He threw himself at the demons, throwing hits left and right, sending them through walls and -at one memorable point- through the _actual fucking ceiling_.

When he got close enough to some of the demons he could see a bright glow of light reflecting off their skin and he knew the source of the light was from his own eyes. Which was freaky, because he could see fine, better than fine. Everything was: his sight, hearing, smell, etc. It was like he filled up his senses to one hundred on the one to ten scale.

But he filed that information away for later unpacking, focusing on the demons.

He killed six more before the others started making a break for it. Sam knew he couldn't let any escape, so he let the burn shine through his skin, keeping a careful lock on it so there wouldn't be a repeat of the bar incident.

Reaching out with his Grace, Sam grabbed hold of the fleeing demons and crushed them within his metaphysical fists. It was easy, like crushing grapes in his hands, and it floored Sam how weak these beings were to him now. Creatures he had once struggled desperately to fight against, lay wasted at his feet with just a thought. It spooked him, reminding him of his time addicted to demon blood.

Sam left quickly, his mind in a tizzy from his racing thoughts.

God, everything was so messed up.

Four days later, Sam was in Oregon, walking along a dirt back road as it drizzled around him. He didn't feel cold, even though the temperature had dropped dramatically. The Grace under his skin kept him from feeling the cold.

Sam took stock at he walked for hours alone.

His powers, the Grace, the burn beneath his skin. What could he do with it?

For one, he could smite now. Which was handy with dealing with demons. Sam had to shake off more than one tailing him after he killed all those demons. Now that he was paying attention, Sam could tell when demons were near. His demon detection spanded the whole state. Also handy, but kept him anxious. There were always a few demons on his radar, but as long as they stayed far far away, Sam was safe.

Secondly, he could push himself out of his body, like in the bar. And split his consciousness into two while keeping himself whole. Advanced multitasking, as he liked to joke about it.

He could feel souls, beings or essences. He could read them, look into the person in front of him and see their whole life flash before his eyes. He'd know them, every part of them. It horrifyingly intimate and invasive. So Sam held the reigns on that as tight as he could, especially after the bar incident.

Healing was another, like in River Pass, with Ellen and the others. Healing them, not only of their injuries, but from the spell that was placed over them. Pulling it away like a sticky film.

The thought had Sam touching the golden ring that hung on a chain on his neck.

Sam had kept it, knowing it would be safe with him. The gold band still had that slimy, oily feeling along the edges of it, and Sam felt weird just touching it. But the feeling went away as soon as he thought about it. The burn eating away at the bad feeling in his fingertips when he pulled away.

Sam's mind traveled to Dean, which sent a sharp burst of pain in his chest.

He had tried calling Dean many times over the time he had been gone. After the first growled conversation, where Dean threatened him over and over. He still believed that he had said yes to Lucifer, and nothing Sam said would convince him otherwise. Dean hung up the second time, and the third and fourth. After that, Dean didn't pick up.

Sam understood where Dean was coming from, he understood his hesitance and why he was doing this. Sam would probably be freaking out just as much had Dean said yes to Michael.

But Sam _hadn't_ said yes. He was still Sam, or, at least, being Sam was all he could remember.

He pushed that thought away quickly, it was too confusing and alarming to think about. Being someone else and not knowing it? Like a severe case of amnesia with a car full of baggage.

But Sam also knew he wasn't Lucifer. Sam had felt him coming out of the cage, screaming in freedom and relief. His heart ached at the sounds he had heard, and Sam had to shove that away quickly, too. Sympathy for the Devil got you nothing but trouble, and Sam was already neck deep in enough of that.

The soft pat-pat-pat behind him had Sam turning on his heel, gun raised and body tense, ready for a fight.

It was a dog. A black dog with a dusty gray spotting along his face.

Sam lowered his gun, a sheepish look on his face.

He moved forward slowly, hand reaching out to the dog.

"Hey there, buddy. What are you doing out here?" He called to him, kneeling down on the dirt road. The dog patted over, sniffing his hand before licking it, his butt wiggling the whole time from the force of his tail wagging.

Sam didn't care about the abundance of dog drool on his hands as he moved to pet the dog, fingers brushing through his fur and scratching behind his ears. He made ridiculous baby talk to the dog while he did. Plenty of 'good boys' and 'sweet boy's in there.

"You are so handsome, you know that?" he told the dog. A woof was given back to him.

' _Yes_ '

Sam paused, looking down at the dog with wide, startled eyes.

"Did… did you just talk?" he choked out, hoping he was wrong.

' _Always talk, need listen_ ' the dog's mouth did not move, but he wuffled in his throat.

"Oh God, i'm going crazy." Sam muttered to himself, thoroughly freaked out. He stood quickly, hands gripping tightly into his hair as he paced back and forth. He stopped after a bit in front of the dog, who had not moved from where he sat or had stopped wagging his tail.

"What are you? Some sort of supernatural creature?"

' _Am dog, Father._ '

"No, I mean, what kind of dog?"

' _Dog._ '

Either the dog was messing with him (in which, what the hell was his life coming to?) or the dog didn't possess the mental fallacies to fully understand what he was asking.

Sam watched the dog warilly, contemplating for a moment before heaving a sigh and reaching out with a hand with warm fingers to the dog.

The dog moved forward excitedly, butting his head right into Sam's hand.

The Grace within his hand slid forward and touched the dog, gleaning information about him for Sam.

He was a Boxer mix, with a bit of German shepherd in there. He came from a long line of stray and wild dogs who lived in the area. And he was a distance descendant of a German shepherd that had been blessed by the pagan triple goddess, which gave this dog a bit more of an understanding of things than a normal dog would. He also felt overwhelming love and excitement from the Boxer, directed towards him.

Sam healed a few things within the dog without much thought as he pulled his hand back. Arthritis creeping into the back legs and heartworms.

He stared down at the dog for a long time.

"So I can talk to dogs now?" he asked rhetorically.

' _Talk to all, Father._ ` the dog wuffled.

"Why do you call me that? Father?"

' _Are you, Father_.'

"What do you mean?" the dog looked confused at his questions, like he couldn't understand why _Sam_ wasn't getting it. "Nevermind." Sam ran another hand through his hair.

"What's your name?"

' _Am One who Runs'_ the Boxer informed him.

"One who Runs?" the Boxer barked in confirmation. Sam paused for a moment. "Mind if I call you Rush?" the dog wagged his tail faster, moving forward to butt his head against Sam's knees. "Ill take that as a yes." Sam chuckled.

After that, Sam continued on, Rush following close even after Sam told him he didn't need to follow.

' _I follow, Father_.' was all Rush had said and that was that.

Sam didn't mind the company, and he loved dogs.

What he did mind was how many started showing up.

It seemed like, when Sam went to sleep that night, camping just within the woods, Rush had went back to the other dogs he had been living around and told them about Sam.

The next morning, Sam had three dogs. The morning after that, 7.

After than 10.

After that 14.

Sam finally put his foot down when 17 dogs started following him.

"Guys, I love all of you. But it's getting crowded." Sam had finally said. The dogs varied in size, shape, color and breed. Even in age. There were some puppies trailing along, and Sam often found himself carrying a few while he walked.

The dogs all boofed at him in different pitches. Some had voices like Rush, others had more of a presence to them, thoughts that didn't morph into words for him but emotions that he could pick up on.

Rush was by far the most cognitive, which was probably why he found Sam first.

' _We follow, Father._ ' Rush woofed.

"I know, but at this rate we're going to get overcrowded and possibly over hunt the area. I dont have enough to feed you all." Sam said. The dogs all whined sadly at him, their tails drooping.

Sam would never admit to anyone just how fast he broke under the onslaught of puppy eyes they gave him.

"Ok ok, fine. You can stay, but we need to set up some sort of routine or turn-taking so things don't get crazy." the dogs all perked up, tails and butts wiggling happily.

After that it stayed around 15 to 17 dogs with him at any given time, but what dogs were with him changed out. Rush was the only constant, staying next to his side and helping keep the other dogs in check.

Sam would curl up at night, surrounded by dogs and admittedly happier that he'd been in a long time. There was something about being surrounded by the dogs unconditional, free love that soothed something within Sam.

During the day they all trailed along next to him, him leading the front of the group. Sometimes one or two would run ahead, then run back, rabbits or birds in their mouths that they would then share with the rest. Some would sniff around the woods, woofing if they smelled something strange.

The one time a singular demon came upon them, one that Sam had felt miles off, the dogs reacted strongly, circling around Sam and pouncing on the surprised hell spawn. They kept it distracted long enough for him to burn the demon out of the host. After healing up the woman the demon had inhabited he tested something out.

Placing two fingers on the woman's head, he sought a small scrap of information. Where she lived floated through his head and he focused on the images he saw there. With a tap of his fingers, she was gone. And Sam knew in his gut he had succeeded.

"Handy," he mumbled to himself, rubbing his fingers together. He remembered how Cas would fly them places, with a touch of his fingers they would be there. It was what inspired Sam to try it on the woman.

Castiel, now that the thought of him fluttered through Sam's head he couldn't shake him. For the next following days, Cas was all he could think of. The brave little angel that tried to stop the apocalypse and who defied heaven for them. Sure, he made mistakes, but he was learning and trying his best to make good decisions and that was something Sam appreciated.

One night, about a week after the demon, Sam had a strange dream.

 _He was drifting, bodiless, formless. He was the mist over the ground and the clouds in the sky, He was the turn of the Earth and the gravity of the stars. Holding it all together and able to unravel it all with a thought. He could feel each and every being there was, each life humming against the edge of His consciousness, each beautiful and precious to Him._

 _But He was looking for one in particular._

 _With that intent in mind, He dove in, scouring the universe for pieces of that flickering light, of a Grace that had been scattered across the stars._

 _He picked the pieces up, the atoms of them spread so thinly across space. He pulled them together and collected them in His many hands. The light starting as a tiny, atom sized speck, but growing and growing the more He found._

 _A kaleidoscope of light danced across His perception as He traveled, His precious cargo carried and protected within Himself as He did. He peered at Creation as He passed, noting some things He knew to be wrong. The threads that tied Creation together were withered and breaking, the bad areas patched by a power He knew but could not name at the moment._

 _He knew they would hold. But not for long._

 _Pushing the notice back within Himself, He refocused on the bundle of Grace in His hands._

 _It was all there, every speck of their Grace collected and put back together._

 _But it was empty, no thoughts or feelings flitted through the Grace. It was still and quiet. And He found it unnerving._

 _He moved carefully in His next step, thousands of hands reaching out and pressing against a veil only He could feel. He pressed gently, digging His fingers in and prying an opening to the space between everything._

 _The Empty._

 _Reaching through with many hands, He searched for them._

 _The consciousness He sought laid sleeping among their brothers and sisters, others who had fallen. He mourned for them all, vowing internally to mend what was broken. But not now. Not until all was ready._

 _He carefully picked them up, His power sliding over them and cradling them close as He pulled out of The Empty, smoothing His hands over the opening and closing it behind Him._

 _He poured them into the Grace He had collected, watching as they righted themself within and awoke soon after._

 _Feathers ruffled and resettled, hands and tail twitched, and, finally, a dozen eyes opened and looked up at Him._

' _Father?'_

 _ **PEACE, MY CHILD. ALL WILL BE WELL.**_

Sam woke with a gasp, sitting up sharply and startling off a few of the dogs. He looked around wildly from where he sat, searching for a threat as his head spinned. There was nothing but trees and dogs scampering about, barking at one another.

Sam pulled in deep breaths, willing his heart to stop racing in his chest.

It was just a dream, right? It felt so real but, as he tried to think on it more, bits and pieces slipped away, like they were sliding behind a glossimer curtain. A curtain he was afraid to pull back. Last time he did a bar was destroyed and he touched an angel's wings. He wasn't looking to see what he would do next.

' _Father?_ ' Rush nosed his hand, which was gripping the ground, dirt and twigs crunching beneath his white-knuckle grip. Sam forced his hands to unclench, reaching out to pet Rush.

"Im fine, just a bad dream," Sam said, taking another deep breath. He pushed down the dream, opting to forget it for the time being.

Knowing he wouldn't be getting back to sleep, Sam pushed up from the ground to stand. Brushing off his pants, he looked around at all of the dogs, who were all awake and looking at him expectantly. It was twilight now, the sun almost peeking from the horizon.

He breathed in the fresh air of the forest around him, pushing the grace within him down within himself.

Sam turned and headed back towards the road and onto the next town, grace a low humm just beneath his breastbone and over a dozen dogs trailing behind him.

Unbeknownst to Sam, thousands and thousands of miles away, bright blue eyes snapped open, a light shining brightly within.


	5. Chapter 5: Bit of Dean

Chapter 5: A Bit of Dean

Dean would be lying if he said he had his head on straight. In fact, he'd be the first in the long line of naysayers who thought he was quite the dumbass on the regular. Dean gets this, he knows he has his faults: emotionally unavailable, the drinking, the anger, etc. He's kind of fucked up, and he gets it.

But this? With Sam? God damn it, Dean didn't know which foot the shoe was on and if up was down or down was up. 90% of him was depressed that Sam said yes, 9% was pissed, and the last 1% was confused and doubtful. The whoever was riding Sam was painfully in character. The puppy dog eyes, the woeful glances, the sniping bitch faces, all were there and not a hair out of place. How could he have been so blind to it? He wrote off the weird actions after the church as side effects of killing Lilith and setting Satan free; the twitches, the alarmed and panicked look in his eyes, the hocus pocus during the first part of River Pass.

But then the shooting happened and Sam's eyes glowed. Not just the pupil, the whole eye. They burned with a power that shook Dean to his core and he was certain he was staring at his death in the face.

But then Lucifer healed all those folks, grew a bunch of fuckin trees, then had the nerve to give him those sad eyes like Dean was supposed to roll over for it like it wasn't wearing his Sammy like a skin suit.

So Dean had taken off, peeling out of River Pass in the Impala and swearing revenge. He left a bag behind, his nagging older brother instincts raging at him until he did. He went to Bobby and got him out of the hospital, took him home. Gave him the story of what happened while Bobby cursed up a storm. The two then got cracking on how to push an angel out of its vessel, but nothing came up. Dean hit the road after a week of nothing, his feet itching and his heart aching.

He hit a couple of hunts, got thrown around, chugged back more booze in those few weeks than he had all year, just so that he didn't have to acknowledge the situation for a few hours at a time.

During everything he was aware of how painfully alone he was; Bobby was out of commission, Sam was possessed, Cas was dead and he was one man against the entire forces of Heaven and Hell.

And it sucked major ass.

Dean was on the tail end of a hunt when something wondrous happened, something that flared a small spark of hope in his dying soul.

He was washing the dirt and blood of his face in the motel sink when he looked up and Castiel was there, looming like a fucking creep.

Scared the shit out of him. And Dean would later deny the high pitched yell he let out or the curses or the flinging anything within grabbing distance at the angel. Cas stood there, saying "Dean" over and over again like a broken record whenever a lamp, phone, or (ironically enough) Bible hit him in the face. Of course the angel wasn't affected at all, just stood there like a fucking statue waiting for Dean to calm down. Asshole.

"Where the absolute FUCK have you been?!" Dean roared at him after calming down. "We've been out here getting our asses kicked and you've been what?! Sipping fucking margaritas by the pool? What the FUCK!?"

Cas looked at Dean like he was a dumbass. Of course, his face didn't move and inch, but Dean could _feel_ it.

"I was dead, Dean." Was all he said.

"Then how are you back?" Dean asked, putting down the toilet paper rack that he had been aiming to throw next.

"God did it, Dean." Dean was quite for a long time, processing that bomb of information.

"You're shitting me."

"I need your help," Cas stared him down, not shooting the shit.

"With?" Dean practically wheezed out.

"I need an amulet, it is very rare and very powerful. It burns hot in the presence of God."

"And what? Going to zap around trying to find him?"

"Yes. With His help we can end the apocalypse."

"Cas," Dean groused, "I don't know what you saw or heard when you came back, but don't you think that if God wanted to end the apocalypse he woulda stuck around after bringing you back? Not fuck off to timbucktwo?"

"That's why I need to find Him." Cas rebutted. Dean raised an eyebrow and the angel hesitated for a long moment. "I sensed something was… off."

" _Off?_!"

"Something is wrong and I need to find Him, Dean. I need that amulet."

"Well, I don't know if you know this, Cas, but i don't exactly have God emfs laying around," Dean rubbed the bridge of his nose, trying to stave off the pounding headache that accompanied this conversation.

"You do, Dean." Cas looked pointedly down to Dean's chest. Then it clicked.

"Oh _Hell_ no,"

"Dean-"

"No! Fuck you, Cas, do you even know whats going on? It's a literal shit show down here and we don't have time to go on a wild goose chase, looking for a God who went out for a pack of cigs and never came back." Dean ran both hands through his hair, trying to calm his racing heart and racing thoughts. "Sam said Yes, Cas." he said, his voice horse and barely above a whisper.

It was quiet for a long moment.

"No he didn't." Cas looked like Dean had just told him pigs could fly.

" _Bullshit!_ "

"Dean, every angel would feel the exact moment Lucifer takes his vessel. Even now I can feel his presence, he is not hiding himself. Lucifer is currently circling a possible vessel, and it is not Sam." Castiel informed. His head tilted, eyes squinting at Dean, "Why do you think Sam has said yes?"

Dean recounted everything that happened in River Pass, and all the other weird little things that he had noted since their exit of the church. Castiel looked concerned by the end.

"Sam is not being possessed by Lucifer, nor is he being possessed by anyone with allegiance to Heaven. There would be chatter if Sam had said yes to any of my siblings."

"Is it possible he said yes to a rogue angel, someone who aint so hot for the apocalypse?"

"... It is possible."

.

.

.

" _Shit,_ "

"Dean-"

" _SHIT!_ " there was a crash of broken glass as Dean threw the closest thing -another lamp- across the room. One hand rubbed through his hair as he paced the room, overthinking everything that had happened.

"Fuck, i gotta- I gotta call him. I have to call him now." he said, grabbing up his cell.

"Dean-"

"NO! Cas, you dont- you dont fucking _get it_. Damnit, damnit, DAMNIT!" Dean hollered at the call as it went straight to voicemail. He tried again, and again, and again. "Sam, please, call me as soon as you get this." He said after the beeped the 6th time, flipping the phone shut after.

He blazed through the room, throwing his shit into bags and holstering his guns. Cas intercepted him as he went to leave.

"Dean, i need the amulet now." He said, his stare penetrating Dean.

"And I need to find my brother." Dean all but growled back, his gaze challenging. There was a stare down for a long moment, both unwilling to back down. It was Dean who caved, huffing angrily as he pulled off his amulet and handed it over, demanding that Cas return it in perfect condition.

With that, Castiel flew off, leaving nothing but a breeze in his wake. Dean hauled out the door and got into the Impala, pointing it towards Bobby's.

The kid could make some Goddamn awful decisions, but Dean'ed be damned if he'd let him do it alone.

He got back to Bobby's in record time. The old man was up and walking with a walking stick for short periods of time, regaining the strength in his legs. Sometimes Dean would wheel him around in the chair, but those moments were few and far between.

With new information, the two delved into a new research frenzy, trying to figure out what angel was riding Sam's bones. Dean went out on a hunt or two, but in all they did not find much.

But one day Castiel showed up, looking frazzled.

"He was here, on Earth, they all felt Him. He was right there and I missed Him-"

"Wait wait wait, slow your roll, Cas," Dean held up his hands from where he was sitting next to one of Bobby's desks. "Who are you talking about?"

"God, Dean." Cas said impatiently.

"So God was on Earth? What the hell was he doing, checking the tourist traps?" Bobby butted in from where he was sitting in his chair. Castiel gave them both a frustrated look.

"Wait, did this happen just now?"

"No, Dean. It was a few weeks back. There was a smiting in Norman, Oklahoma. A man's soul was sent to Hell. The angels have it now for questioning, but it was undoubtedly God who had done it." Castiel said with conviction. "And that is not all," He strode forward, pulling out a map from his trench coat and laying it flat on the desk between them all. Several locations were ticked with red marks. There was a star next to Norman, Oklahoma.

Castiel pointed to another location, some small town about 300 miles away from Norman.

"Here there was a mass smiting of demons. Over two dozen remains were found, all with traces of His Grace."

"Shit,"

"And here," he pointed to the opposite side of the map. "Is where a woman, Tracy Smithen, turned up. She had been possessed by a demon, God smote it."

Castiel pointed to a few other random locations on the map, pointing out other odds and ends that he believed were signs from the big man himself.

"Wait wait wait, this hospital here, that was the one me and Sam went to after our confrontation with Zacharia in the storage room." Dean said.

Castiel nodded, "All residents of the hospital were healed of any and all ailments. Even those with terminal injuries or diseases were completely healthy within 24 hours."

"Damn, talk about a friggin miracle." Dean huffed.

"So what's he doin' down here besides the random smiting and healin'? There are no patterns to these events, Smithen was found on the opposite side of the country to the demons and the exploded bar was nowhere near them either. We can't tell where he'll be next." Bobby put in.

Castiel was silent for a long moment, staring at the map before looking up to them.

"I have a plan,"

"This is a shitty plan." Dean hissed from the doorway, peeking out to keep a lookout. Castiel shushed him and kept drawing a circle around the disabled man in the wheelchair.

Castiel's brilliant plan: stalk an archangel's vegetated vessel and see if they can force said archangel to hand over the soul God threw to Hell. Cas had a bottle of holy oil that he spread in a circle around the man and was chanting into his ear, calling for Raphael to appear.

Obviously he didn't, because when did things ever go easy for them? They waited all day and the angel didn't show.

But he did later, in the little ramshackle house they'd been squatting in. The entrance was pretty cool, but Dean wasn't going to admit it.

"I mean, I thought you were supposed to be impressive. All you do is black out the room?" Dean snarked, looking around.

"And the eastern seaborge," Raphael's voice rumbled like the thunder outside.

Then there were threats, Raphael threatening to take him to Michael to be worn like the fanciest angel condom, and listing some of the greatest hits from that asshole Zachariah.

If Dean was honest, the shocked look on the bastard's face when he light the holy oil satisfied something deep in Dean's soul. Dean didn't know when he got so good at reading the normally stoic angels, but a part of him could just _feel_ the edge of fear in the archangel when the fire flicked too close to him, even if the vessel's face gave nothing away.

He filed it away for later, focusing on the two angels facing off in front of him.

"Where is He?" Castiel demanded, glaring holes in the other's face.

"God?" Raphael raised an eyebrow at the seraph, "Haven't you heard? He's dead, Castiel."

"That's a lie." Castiel all but hissed. He moved closer to the ring, "He is here, He is present. You know this." Raphael glared at Cas, not speaking. "He smote a horde of demons, and cast a soul to Hell. His presence was felt by all."

"You were dead, how would you know?"

Castiel was quite a long time, shuffling from foot to foot.

"He was the one to resurrect me." he said slowly. The other angel tilted his head up, looking down at Castiel.

"Did it ever occur to you that maybe Lucifer raised you?" Raphael said, his words low and damning. Dean felt more than saw how Cas stiffened, frustration rolling off the younger angel.

"No,"

"Think about it, he needs all the rebellious angels he can find. You know it adds up."

It was quiet again, Castiel shifting on his feet in an all too human gesture of conflict.

"He spoke to me."

"What?" Raphael's voice was flat and disbelieving. Castiel looked him straight in the eye.

"He spoke to me." Castiel repeated. Raphael edged closer to the edge of the fire, an intense look on his face as he stared the seraph down.

"What did he say?" came out in a horse whisper.

"... He told me all would be well."

Raphael's vessel was deadly still, Dean could taste the desperation and longing coming from him, the intensity of the emotions pushing at his sides until he backed up, as if distance would help.

The mood in the room had gone from hostile to something far more intense in .5 seconds and Dean's head was reeling from it. He felt like an outsider looking in at a picture he didn't quite understand and was grasping at straws to piece together.

"That is not all," Castiel continued, looking troubled. "... when He spoke to me… He… He did not seem well."

"What do you mean?" Raphael demanded, almost pressed to the edge of the circle, uncaring of the flames that flickered at the edge of his grace. His focus was on the other angel, the one who saw Father, the one He chose to speak to after all these years. A spark of jealousy flared in Raphael, one that rubbed against the raw shards inside him where his family used to be. Centuries of practice made it easy to push down, cram into the little dark corners to forget.

The younger angel in front of him looked a mess, his wings whole but unkempt, feathers in disarray. His vessel looked worn and dirty, as if the seraph had been so distracted by everything he forgot to maintain it. The stern facade from before melted away and Raphael could see the lost and frightened edge to him now, the concern as he spoke of Father.

"His grace was different, I know it was Him, but it felt… fractured."

"Explain," Raphael demanded, feeling the fright in Castiel mirroring within himself. The thought of Father being injured or fractured shook something within him. It was an impossible, horrible thought. The Father, the one who was held so high up He was untouchable to all.

All but His first born.

Raphael remembered a time where it was just them, the five of them together. So tightly wound around and within one another that if someone told him where they'd all be now he'd think them quite insane. But there they were, with a splintered, broken family. It hurt him, deeply, and Raphael had long ago learned to lock away his love and care in the deepest pits of himself. Where it couldn't be hurt any more than it already was.

"It was His Grace but it felt like much of it was missing. He looked injured, like His Grace had been shredded." Castiel said softly, like the words alone would poison him.

The image he painted, of their Father hurt, disturbed him to the very core of his being.

He stared Castiel in the eye, daring him to lie to him. It was quiet for a long moment, but he could feel nothing within Castiel that would hint at deception. Something clicked within Raphael, his internal compass turning on its axis into a new direction.

"Let me out."

" _Hell no,_ "

Raphael looked over at Dean, who had backed up to lean against the far wall.

"We ain't letting you run around, causing destruction, just 'cuz you found out your daddy's not feeling well. Or did you forget you're the mooks who started the apocalypse while the old man was out."

"This is my Father you are speaking of, you _will_ let me out of here so I may find him." Raphael snarled, at the end of his patience with the human. The human shifted, foot to foot, but did not back down from glaring at him. Raphael had to admit, his brother's vessel was just as stubborn as he was. The strength within him was begrudgingly admirable, and he had to send a quick prayer of good luck to Micheal in getting his vessel to say yes.

"If we let you out, you must promise to leave here, no confrontation or manipulation. Dean remains." Castiel spoke, his voice firm. Raphael gave him an irritated look. "Swear it to your Grace and I will let you go."

"Cas-" the seraph shushed Dean's protest.

The archangel growled to himself, displeased at the turn of events. However, his priorities lie with finding his Father, not fighting a falling seraph and one human. He nodded.

Castiel grabbed a bucket of water that had been laying off to the side and doused the flames. When they were snuffed, Raphael stepped out from the burnt out ring, his wings stretching out behind him from where they had been cramped in close to not touch the fire.

Both angel and human looked at him warily, and he felt a flare of indignation at their presumption that he'd go back on his word.

"One last thing," Castiel said, prompting Raphael to raise a brow. "The human, the one Father cast down, I need to speak with him."

"No."

Castiel's wings ruffled in frustration.

"Listen here," Dean spoke up, moving to stand next to Castiel, "Cas here was the one your dad decided to bring back. Out of all the angels to pick from, he chose Cas, the only angel openly rebelling against the apocalypse. That says something, don't you think?" he challenged, arms crossing. "And who knows, maybe he'll pick up on something you guys haven't."

Raphael stared blankly.

Then flew off.

"Fuckin' bastard."

Days later, Dean got tossed through the shitter.

 ** _Again._**

Goddamn Zachariah. He couldn't wait to wring his smarmy little neck.

Waking up in 2014 wasn't his idea of a good time, the damn croatoan infected people running after his ass even less so. But he got through it, hunted down the survivors at Camp Chitaqua, got his head knocked in and tied up by his future self.

So, you know. Eventful day.

His dipshit other self left him there though, so that kinda sucked.

Dean struggled for a hot second, grating his fingernail against the wood until he could grab up a nail and use it to pick open the lock. He stood from where he had been sitting, rubbing at his wrist to get the feeling back in it. He made his way to the door and got out.

He wasn't outside for two goddamn seconds before something weird happened.

Future Chuck came speed walking up to him, clutching a clipboard and looking skittish.

That look melted away when he got close to Dean.

The skittish look melted away, a sharp, calculating look taking its place. Dean shuffled from foot to foot, feeling like a bug under a microscope.

"Interesting," Chuck mumbled, mainly to himself, his head tilting to the side in an alarmingly familiar gesture. "You're not supposed to be here. Not yet." Dean jumped on that.

"Uh, yeah no! I'm not from here here, i'm from-"

"An alternate dimension." Chuck cut in, the sharp look not leaving.

"-Wait what?"

"Someone sidestepped you. Who?"

"Zachariah." Dean said slowly, not really getting what was going on. An odd sensation filled his chest when he had first seen Chuck, one that oozed familiarity and something else he couldn't name. It freaked him out a bit.

"Why?"

"Uh, i'm guessing to see how bad the future will be, ya know, say yes to Michael and all that crap."

Chuck hummed, his arms crossing.

"You ok?" Dean asked slowly, his eyes scrunched at the smaller man.

Chuck shrugged, rubbing a hand against his forehead.

Dean was (still) completely flabbergasted.

The Prophet sighed, "It'll be ok, Dean. Just, do what you do. It'll work itself out."

"I still don't understand what you're on, man." Dean shook his head at the smaller man, the tug in his chest pulling harder. Chuck smiled then, a small sad smile.

"You will."

So, big yikes given from Mr Prophet Man, but Dean was pretty good at shaking weird shit off. Not that it was difficult given the crazy shit that happened next.

For one, Cas was Buddhist? And having orgies. Dean gave the angel props to finally getting the stick from his ass, but it was weird as hell.

Also, Future Dean was an absolute asshole. Like, 11 outta 10 asshole and Dean hoped he never fell to that level of dickishness.

It also made him acutely aware of his own behavior, both now and in the past. It made the ache within him to find Sam all the stronger.

Next: going after Lucifer, the trap, Future Dean _knowing_ about the trap and willingly sending his people to die.

Dean didn't know how to describe how he felt when he realized just how far gone his future self was. It was like he went numb from the inside out, nothing left but a dull, painful, _disbelieving_ throb in his chest. It took looking into the cold eyes of his other self for Dean to come to a resolution.

Come Hell or high water, Dean would do whatever it took to never become the man that stood in front of him.

 _Never_.

...Figures as soon as he had a life affirming moment he'd get sucker punched and knocked unconscious.

Dean woke up with a groan, his head killing him. But the sound of gunfire didn't let him recover, he was up and following the sound quickly. Which led him face to face with Lucifer, who had just snapped the neck of his Future self.

Dean had a hard time finding any grief for that.

"Oh. Hello, Dean."

Ah, shit.

Thunder and lightning crackled dramatically overhead as Lucifer talked, and kept talking. Lamenting about Sam being his vessel and spewing the whole 'Sympathy for the Devil' shit like mouth diarrhea. Dean had a hard time concentrating, replying on autopilot whenever needed.

Besides the ache in his head, the dull throb in his chest from before had yet to go away. He swore he could feel the ache creeping up in his body, stronger and more painful the closer Lucifer got to him.

 _Thud… thud…_ ** _thud_** …

"Do you know why God cast me down?"

It was drumming in his ears, behind his eyes. In time with his heart, it grew as his adrenaline spiked. Louder and louder, until he was surprised he could hear what Lucifer was saying at all.

"Look at what 6 Billion of you have done to this thing..."

It hurt, burning in a cold way, across his chest and up his neck and behind his eyes until Dean could think of nothing else. Was Lucifer doing this to him? Was he holding him here with his powers, hurting him and forcing him to say. Schakeling him in place. Detained? _Captured?_ **_Confined…?_**

"We will always end up… here."

 ** _IMPRISONED?_**

The thought echoed outward, his mind and the thrumming going quiet.

"Dean?"

Sam's voice. But not.

Layered with grace, another being's voice resonating on a frequency that humans could not hear.

Dean's eyes snapped open - _when had they closed_ \- and looked at Lucifer.

 **'** ** _Y O U ' G_** **'**

Lightning crackled once more, the smell of ozone strong in the air, and then Lucifer was _gone_.

It was like an immense pressure suddenly lifted from him, like he was a thousand leagues under the ocean and suddenly brought to sea level. The thudding, heavy feeling faded and he was able to breathe again, gasping for breath. Dean didn't move for a long time, just standing there, breathing in and wondering _what the fuck just happened?_

Dean was thwarted from figuring this out by the dick bag known as Zachariah, who zapped him back home with three clicks of his ruby slippers.

Dean had a great time telling him where to shove it. He didn't look too happy about it though, and just when Dean was absolutely certain he was about to get the angel version of a cosmic wedgie, Cas swooped in like a knight in beige armor and saved his ass.

"Holy shit, Cas, you will not believe the day I've had."

"It's night time, Dean."

"Yeah, well, it's been a day for me." Dean replied, giving a quick summary of what went down earlier. Ending with his weird encounter with the alternate Lucifer and how he felt suffocated by it.

"It's well within his powers to do something like that, Dean. I am not surprised he used his Grace to keep you in place while you two spoke."

"Pff, you make it sound like we had a conversation. It was more like i just stood there and he monologued about how he was the victim." Dean snorted, reaching into his coat pocket and pulling out his phone. He tried Sam's phone again, and it went straight to voicemail. He cursed to himself, and then to Sam, wondering if his phone being off was a sign of trouble or just Sammy going off to sulk a bit more.

He turned to Castiel.

"We need to find Sam," he stated, holding up a hand when Cas went to speak, "I helped you with Raphael, now it's your turn to help me."

"Finding God will stop the Apocalypse, Dean." the angel said slowly. Dean's jaw clenched tightly.

"It'd be faster if he was here."

"I don't doubt it, Dean. But there is an urgency to finding God that trumps the need to find your brother."

Dean was quiet for a long moment before he spoke next, his voice strong and sure.

"Not to me."


	6. Chapter 6: A Man Reaps What He Sows

Chapter 6: A Man Reaps What he Sows

(WARNING: CHILD DEATH, SENSITIVE RELIGIOUS THEMES)

Sam found a town. It was a small, personal town with barely 500 people in it. There wasn't even a McDonalds there.

It was more like a village now that he thought about it.

Everyone knew everyone, there were block parties once a month that were more like family gatherings, local gardens that anyone could pick from, a small grocery store and maybe 3 gas stations total.

Due to how small the place was, Sam was spotted as an outsider almost immediately. The small herd of dogs following him was certainly an eye catcher as well. As Sam moved through town, headed towards the Dinner, he spoke quietly to Rush, instructing him to lead the dogs off until he called for them. Rush was not pleased with this and bartered that at least one of them stayed with Sam just to be safe. Sam, who was feeling rather amused but pleased with the K9's protectiveness, conceded. Whomever accompanied him would have to sit outside the Dinner, though, since animals were not allowed in restaurants.

Sam treated himself to a hearty breakfast, after days on the road chowing down on small game and whatever he could forage from the brush, he was famished. He was quick to eat and leave though, not liking the stares from the locals.

He walked through the town, no destination really in mind. Rush walked closely at his heels, head tipped back and sniffing the air. His feet took him around the town, only stopping when he came to a small, worn church.

The church was dingy. Some windows were boarded up, the sign outside said 'cum and b dlvrd bitch,' no doubt the handiwork of the local youth. One side was covered in graffiti, and on the other side was a small fenced area with a small, barren garden.

He climbed the steps and entered the place.

It wasn't as dingy as the outside. The whole building consisted of the worship hall, with privacy screens along the back that the Priest could dip behind. The place was worn, but held a well-loved feeling to it rather than a lack of upkeep. The pews were dark and the cushions on them threadbare and patched in places with careful stitches. The carpet was faded off-red, worn down to the barest of threads from years of dress shoe-covered feet shuffling over it. The altar at the head of the church was obviously the prized possession.

It was covered in a sheet, so Sam pulled it off. A pleased humm left him when he saw the polished hardwood altar. It was a little busted up: wear marks from candelabras, remnants of wax spattered across the wood, and divots along one edge where a bug must have chewed through it . A large, copper basin sat in the center for baptism, the metal rusted along the bottom.

Sam reached out with warm fingers, gliding the tips along the edge of the bowl and altar. Wood and metal mended themselves before his eyes until a sturdy, gleaming altar was left like new.

A deep-seated pleasure hummed its way through Sam's core as he observed the place of worship around him. He could feel the imprints of the souls that had once praised here, could hear phantom echoes of hymns and prayers from years upon years of worship. They had sunk into the floors, into the walls and rafters, saturating the whole building with the energy of their faith and love.

Sam settled down on the floor and soaked it all in.

Over the next few weeks, Sam worked on the little church. Other than the altar, Sam didn't use his Grace to fix anything. He worked with his hands, repairing and tending to the little building. He washed the paint off the outside walls with a home mix of borax and dish soap he had gotten at the town's grocery store. He fixed the shingles on the roof, tore out the rotted wood off the sidings and replaced it. Having Grace meant he could work for hours and hours without getting tired.

The dogs helped along the way, bringing him things that he needed, pulling up weeds out of the garden with their jaws, pushing out the rotting siding with their paws and more. He kind of felt like a disney princess about it all, which brought a humored smile on his face whenever the thought came.

Things got even more princess-like when he started working on the garden more actively.

Birds brought him seeds.

Fucking. Birds. Brought. Him. Seeds.

For the first few days it happened, he had been so confused. Waking up outside with small piles of grain sitting innocently on his work table.

He laughed himself silly when he figured out where all the seeds were coming from. And after that, the birds started hanging out even more regularly. They'd hop along the repaired fences, ride along on his shoulders or in his hair, some even road on the dogs backs.

The crows and ravens in the groups were little trouble makers, pinching at the dogs tails and flying off when they'd snap back at them.

But they were good for finding things, like bringing him nails that he had dropped in the grass. They'd also bring him little random trinkets. The larger birds would bring him shiny things, like coins and metallic wrappers. The smaller ones would bring him other things, like bottle caps and hair pins. He had quite the collection going.

Sam grew very fond of his flock of birds and dogs, taking a week out of repairing the church to build bird and dog houses. They all seemed very pleased by this, especially after he was able to use his Grace to conjure up some cloth and soft straw for them.

It was very peaceful. Sam felt something settle into his heart when he watched the animals play and live happily around him. But a deep rooted sadness and longing lingered along the edges of it, and Sam couldn't pinpoint where it came from. Why did the site of this flock bring forth such a feeling of melancholy? Why did the harmony bring him turmoil?

Sam tried his best to shake it off, but it lingered around the edges of his emotions like sage smoke: ignorable, but unquestionably there.

So he tilled the garden with some MacGyvered tools, pulled weeds and stones, and mixed in mulch to soften the hardened earth. The dogs and birds helped. Birds pulled out weeds and glass from broken beer bottles, and the dogs dug up the ground after in large chunks, using their claws to break up the larger clumps.

Knowledge of agriculture and botany was whispered into his ears, carried by the winds that rustled between trees and over fields and plains.

 _Plant here, Plant_ ** _now_** _,_

 _Deep ground_

 _Water Water_ ** _r_**

 _Sunlight, warmth_

 ** _This one_** _, this seed,_ ** _here_** _, will grow_

 _This one,_ ** _this seed_** _, wither decay, grow wrong_

 _Plant plant plant_ ** _deep ground-_**

Sam felt a little silly, listening to random whispers, but did it anyway. Sorting seeds into piles based on type and then on whether or not they were duds. He fed the duds to the birds before carefully sowing the good ones into the tilled ground. He hummed to himself as he worked, falling into an easy rhythm that kept a good pace. It was almost trance-like, the peace that fluttered over him as he worked with the earth between his fingers and toes, surrounded by a flock of birds and dogs who loved and listened.

In these moments, Sam would let his consciousness reach out a bit more than normal. Practicing his limits, he'd stretch out his mind like he did before, but less far. He could feel the worms wiggling in the soil, the ants burrowing, the bees humming in the air, the spiders crawling along the ground. His Grace brushed against them and a burst of happiness was felt. Sam would let them crawl to him. Scooping the worms and bugs in his hands, Sam would conjure sugar cubes and small fruits for them to munch on.

The ants and worms were very helpful, breaking up the harder parts of the ground by digging through them. Sam let the spiders web their way through his tomato patch, stringing intricate and beautiful webs between poles and plants.

There was one black and yellow garden spider he lovingly dubbed 'Charlotte', who was a little different than the rest of her kin. She didn't feel inclined to join them in the tomato patch, rather, he'd feel her dance along his scalp, stealing hair to weave into webs or single-strand braids.

Sam had no idea why he was so calm about it; while he was never scared of spiders or bugs in the past, he certainly never let them crawl on him. But now, it seemed, his view had changed and he was rather welcomed to it.

The locals knew Sam by now. He came closer into town once a week, trailing dogs and birds behind him, with spiders in his messy hair and dirt smudged along his clothes and face. Sometimes, he was even barefoot. The people would shy away still, cautious eyes peeking out of shutters and blinds as he and his troop passed.

Sam looked wild and he knew that. Embraced it even.

Going into the small store closest to the church, he'd leave the dogs and birds outside, moving through the doors and into the aisles to pick through canned food that would last. Rice in bulk, beans as well. Fuel for his lamps and lighters, some candles and jerky for the dogs.

On his way back, Sam would pick up discarded furniture and appliances from the end of people's driveways before trash day, taking them back to the church and either fixing or repurposing them. He found an old radio that only needed a few places rewired and was able to set it up, putting on an oldies station that he crooned along with while he worked.

It was one day, about a month and a half into his stay in the town that broke the ice between him and the people of the town.

An old gameboy that had definitely seen better days was found on the fencepost when he went out to tend to the garden, the plants having begun to fully sprout from the ground.

Sam picked up the game, turning it over in his hands as he inspected it. He looked around for the owner of the game, but found no one.

He looked curiously down at the gameboy, rubbing a finger along the surface, he let a trickle of his Grace go forward.

Barry Howardson was ten years old and lived with his mother in a small house a few blocks from the church on the route that he took to the store. They used to live in Seattle, but after his father had died overseas when he was eight, Barry's mother thought it best to settle somewhere new and quiet. His father had given him this gameboy on the first Christmas he could remember, and they'd play it together for hours. Barry had kept it in as best of condition as he could, but little boy hands were less than delicate and over time the game had broken. Barry had been heartbroken and tried to fix it himself, but he couldn't. So the game had sat within a small box under his bed for the last three months.

But then the Stranger came into town. He was followed by a hoard of dogs, galloping along behind him wherever he went. His mom told him to stay away from the Stranger and Barry had been confused. The dogs trusted him, and when dogs trusted someone, they were good. Just like when the neighbors dog Doxie had bitten a jogger that had passed by. The poor dog had been put down, but it was later found out that the jogger had been a pedophile, and was scouting out the area for their next victim.

After that, Barry trusted the dogs. Far more than he trusted people.

The dogs never left the Stranger, and soon birds followed. Sitting on his shoulders and lining the fences as he passed, putting twigs in his hair and singing songs that Barry could hear whistled back.

Barry knew he was holed up in the old church, repairing it from what it looked like. The local PD left him alone, not caring for the old church enough to try to stop him. Some of the older people in town thought the Stranger was odd, but were grateful to see the old church that they had gone to when they were younger brought back into better shape.

Didn't mean anyone talked to him, though.

After a bit, Barry noticed that the Stranger would pick up things that had been thrown out. Old microwaves, recliners, busted tvs and chairs. Barry had no idea what the Stranger was doing with them until he saw his neighbor Mrs Martha's old cherry red couch rebuilt as a large dog bed in the back of the churchyard.

Barry put out an old radio one day, one that had been busted for as long as he could remember. He placed it outside the day he knew the Stranger would come by and watched anxiously as he walked by and picked it up.

He only had to wait a day before he saw the old radio up in the church garden, working perfectly as it belted out an older tune.

So Barry grabbed the old gameboy and went to the church. He waited until the Stranger went inside for the night before placing the game on the fence post and leaving quickly.

Sam pulled back, touched by the story he had found. Using his Grace once again, Sam brushed against the gameboy, restoring completely until the plastic casing gleamed. However, he left one little thing on it before placing it back down.

Later that day, Barry came back. Seeing the game on the fence left him with a feeling of sadness, his hopes dashed. Feeling foolish, the young boy raced over and picked up the game. But it looked different.

He looked at the gameboy in wonder, running his hands over the smooth surface that had once been dirty and scratched. Barry hit the power button and was delighted as the Gameboy logo appeared on the screen. He then turned it over and saw something he had forgotten about, the sharpied words having been rubbed away by greasy fingers long ago.

' _Always here for a rematch! - Love Dad_ '

After that day, Sam seemed to get things left on the fence daily. Barry seemed to have told his mom what he did, and she (after giving him a good scolding) told her friends about it as well. Word of mouth had people labeling him as quite the handyman. Sam would walk out of the church with anything from small kitchen appliances to chairs and tables sitting next to the fence.

He didn't mind. With the church nearly done and the garden only needing a few bits of care here and there, Sam had some free time on his hands.

Most he fixed by hand; the chairs and tables needing a little woodwork or screws. For the electrical stuff, he relied on Grace, not being overly handy with wires beyond basics.

He'd leave the items where they were before and most would be gone within the day or the next.

Sam didn't expect payment of any kind. So when food like pies and roasts were left on the church steps, he was a bit confused. Until he took the first bite that is.

Euphoria hit him like a wave when he did. No matter what he ate. The food was made and offered with him in mind and he could feel it. The thought behind each item filled him, his Grace hummed beneath his skin with every offering, singing out when he accepted them. He felt stronger, he could work longer and harder than before with every meal.

After that, he gladly accepted the food, splitting it with the flock around him.

Sam still never spoke with the locals. But things became… the best word he could pick would be odd. Things became odd when he was walking to the store one day. A tingle in his Grace made him walk a new route, just one street over from where he normally walked. He kept his eyes peeled, looking for the cause of the disturbance with great caution.

He saw a man in a sharp black suit, standing just off to the side of the road. Sam's eyes sharpened when he saw his distorted face.

A Reaper.

Someone was going to die.

Sam's eye scanned the street in a craze, hunting instincts taking over as he surveyed the scene. Kids playing in the yards, people walking their dogs or going for a jog.

His Grace went from a hum to a buzz, lighting every nerve in his body. He whistled a sharp note to Rush, whose ears perked up. The pit mix turned, giving a few short barks to the group of dogs behind them. The group stopped moving about, going on alert and staying back from Sam.

It was just in time, too. The buzz in his Grace lit up like a firecracker, and Sam's eyes were drawn to a small child, who was running across the lawn and into the street without looking as a car drove by. A person shrieked the kids name as the car slammed on the brakes.

Sam dashed forward, bare feet kicking up dirt as he sprinted towards the child. Time slowed to a crawl, but Sam remained in motion. He didn't give thought to the silence, or still hanging birds and frozen people as he moved, scooping the child up and out of the way.

The world righted itself as soon as Sam knew the child was out of danger, the noise slamming back into his ears as it did. His breath came out short as the adrenaline shook through his body, his Grace adding fuel to the fire.

The car had come screeching to a stop, people were screaming and running towards him. It was overwhelming and his mind screamed for him to get out out _out_. But Sam collected himself for just a moment, looking down at the small child, he saw a slightly dazed, but unharmed little boy. Sam set him down just as an adult, who he assumed was the kid's parent, got there. The parent kneeled down in front of the boy, searching him over with frantic hands while screeching still.

By the time the parent looked up, Sam was gone.

Word spread fast, and by the end of the day, everyone in town knew what the Stranger had done.

If Sam thought back, that'd be the moment he'd put a red pin in.

The offerings kept coming, but now they were layered with more than just food. Blankets, tools, clothes, dog toys and more. Each item layered in that thing that made his Grace sing. The homemade things were better than any of the store bought gifts, and somehow, someway, people had caught onto this. Even when Sam had secluded himself into the church for longer, not going on his normal trips into town. Handknit blankets and shawls, mittens and hats. Sam would have worn the beanies, but Charlett still held a lease.

The things by his fence stayed somewhat the same. Fixing impossibly broken items seemed to fuel whatever fire had caught.

It wasn't until Sam was in his garden, once again letting his senses stretch out, that he caught onto what had happened.

Voices hummed in the wind, carried across streets and houses. People's voices, ringing clear in his ears even from far away. They whispered about him in reverent voices.

 _"-in the church-"_

 _"-saved Wart's child-"_

 _"-Appeared out of thin air."_

 _"His eyes, his eyes were_ ** _glowing_** _."_

Sam's eyes snapped open.

"Damn it!" He had blundered. Showing his power in public was one of the things on his 'Do Not Do' list and Sam had messed it up.

He thought for a long moment. Wondering what he should do. The thought of leaving made him upset, abandoning the church and garden he had worked so hard to repair set a hum of anger through him. No, he wouldn't leave. Not when he finally found a place that comforts him.

But what should he do? The townspeople were becoming aware of his oddities. After the initial awe fell away, this would lead to suspicion and fear, things he didn't want to deal with right now.

But the matter was taken from him when one morning a little over two weeks after the car incident, a knock came on his door. Sam had been eating at the time, a bite raised up to his mouth when the sound came. His eyebrows furrowed as he looked to the door from where he was seated before the altar. The dogs and birds around him hushed from their normal chatter, looking to him as he surveyed the door.

Sam stood and moved to the door, feeling with his Grace what lay past it.

Three souls hummed at him, lighting up when his Grace brushed across them. Sam sensed no ill will, and opened the door.

The caution did not leave his face when he saw the three people in front of him. One, he took note, was an older woman in a wheelchair. A flicker of Grace told him that the older woman was nearing her final days, old age wearing her heart down and softening her joints to the point she could no longer get around without considerable effort.

"Hello," the middle aged man pushing the wheelchair greeted warmly, looking at Sam with no small amount of awe. Sam shifted uncomfortably under his reverent gaze, feeling awkward.

"Hi." he replied shortly, still holding the door.

"Don't mind this oaf, he's not good with words." The last person, another middle aged man, said brightly, smiling up at him. "My name is Lennon, and this is husband Jeffrey and his mother Gwen."

"Sam." He offered in return, his voice still stilted with confusion.

"Hello Sam," Lennon hummed, his eyes bright with curiosity and the same awe as his husband, just better hidden. "We were wondering, well…" Lennon cleared his throat and gestured to Gwen. "Granny Gwen grew up in this church, back when it was run by a parish. She was pretty upset that it fell into such a state of disrepair over the years."

Sam nodded, knowing where this was headed. He opened the door further, his posture relaxing.

"Would you like to come in?" Sam offered to Gwen, who beamed up at him with a hundred watt smile.

"Yes, I would like that very much." she said softly, her voice horse from age.

There was no handicap ramp into the church, so, after some fumbling from the two other men, Sam brushed them aside and easily hauled the chair in with a smooth hand.

Sam wheeled her down the main aisle. He had done a lot of work on the interior. The rugs had been pulled up and replaced with a new (conjured) one. The pews were newly sanded and polished to a gleam, their cushions fixed by him and embroidered by some surprisingly creative spiders. The walls had been gutted and replaced, widows and stairs to the altar as well.

Everything shined as if new, but was cozy, with a well loved and well worn feeling. Comfortable, soothing and peaceful.

Gwen gasped in the seat, a few tears sliding down her face as she looked around at the church.

"Oh my, it's as good as it can be. Better than I remember it being even." She breathed out, her voice coming out stronger in her passion. "I remember this altar," she said, rubbing a hand down the wood of its side. "Back when i was a child, every family that went here chipped in to get a good one. The copper shone so brightly I had thought it was gold then."

Sam sat there for hours, listening attentively as she told stories about what the church had been like, the hymns and prayers and holidays.

"I can only hope," she hummed, "that I'd been good in the Lord's eye. I know I haven't always been on the straight and narrow, but I've tried." she looked over to her son and his husband.

"You worry." Sam stated, head tilted to the side. Gwen sighed long and deep.

"I love my son, and I love his husband. I was raised in a way that I shouldn't, that I should cast him aside for what he is, but I could never. He's my son and I love him. But, should I go to Hell for lovin' him, husband an' all, I'll walk to those fiery gates myself." She huffed, head tilted up in stubbornness.

Sam broke out into a big smile, Grace humming beneath his skin.

"Then you have no need to worry." He said with absolute surety. Gwen looked at him, straight in the eye and gave him a shaky smile, relief relaxing her once tense posture.

"It does me good, to hear it from you. Not every day an angel gives an old gal like me his blessing." She said, giving him a cheeky look.

Alarm filled Sam, eyes going wide and mouth opening to protest.

"Don't go giving me none of that, boy." She waved him down. "I see the light of God in your eye, even now."

Sam shifted from where he sat, uncomfortable with where the conversation turned. He didn't know how to dissuade her that he was an angel. But he didn't know how to explain why he looked or felt like one either.

"Now, it ain't my place to be asking about why you're here or what you're doing. I'm just happy to have been here to see a part of it." she said, giving him a pat on the hand. Sam put forth a weak nod, unsure what to say.

"I see you've been using my blankets I made." Sam looked over to where she gestured, to a small knitted blanket strew along the back of one of the pews.

"You made that?"

"Yep, had some yarn and a lot of time on my hands." she smiled, looking over at the blanket as well.

"It well made and warm. Thank you." He offered genuinely. She hummed back at him, a smile pulling on her cheeks.

"No, thank you. For saving Wart's boy... and blessing this town."

Sam's plants were ready to harvest after three months of being in the town. Far faster than they should have been, but apparently plants grow quicker with Grace in proximity. He harvested tomatoes, wild corn, beans, herbs and spices, peppers, potatoes, onions and more. He filled baskets with them. He gave a lot to the animals, giving them only what he knew to be safe for them. More and more animals showed up every day now. Things like mice, possums, raccoons, deer, even a bear. Most didn't stick around, but a few of the smaller animals stayed, making nests for their young as spring was in full swing.

He left a lot outside as well, placing a sign that said "Free" above them so the locals would take them. They were gone in two days.

Sam kept this process going. The garden would bloom every few days, Sam would harvest and then share. It was a soothing task that he enjoyed.

But as the days passed, things became even more odd for Sam in the little town. The residents all came to the same conclusion Gwen had. And while no one had plucked up the courage as she had to visit him, he'd still come out to hordes of handmade gifts and food almost daily. He'd taken to sending most of them to the only homeless shelter in town after it had gotten too much. Thankfully, the gifts banked after that, people taking his lead and donating there instead. Sam was more than grateful.

Even his animals were not spared. Rush and the other dogs would come home from walks trailing flower necklaces and crowns, chewing big dog bones and new toys. The birds would weave hair into their nests from people leaving clippings out, perching in new birdhouses lined across the streets and hung in trees. There were birdbaths and dog bowls on every street corner, with little feeding stations as well.

Religious paraphernalia popped up everywhere, displaying verses from the bible or praises to God and angels.

Everything seemed almost euphoric for a long time. Peace settled over the town like a blanket, only broken when the first true disagreement came. A religious one.

Sam had felt restless all day, there was an inch under his feet that he couldn't scratch. So he walked. He walked around the town, viewing the changes that had been made in such a short time. It was later in the day, the late evening sun casting a warm orange glow over everything.

But the glow up ahead of him… that didn't seem like the setting sun…

Sam set into a jog, moving quicker as smoke peaked above the trees, growing in size at an alarming rate.

He raced to the scene to see a house on fire, a mob of people around it carrying torches and propane tanks.

"What the Hell is going on here?" he screamed, but his voice was lost over the jeers and hoots of the mob. His eyes scanned the crowd, noting some of the more prominent leaders of the town were here. He went up to one, drawing the eyes of many.

"What is going on?" he demanded. The human had the audacity to grin up at him.

"God's work," they crooned, "ridding the world of this scum so our Lord can take root."

Sam's head snapped to the building when he heard a scream. A window bowed and broke under the intense heat, fanning the flames with oxygen and burning it even hotter.

Sam did not waste a moment, sprinting into the burning house, despite the alarmed cries of the mob outside. He moved through the house, the flame not even touching Him. His Grace moved outward, feeling for the humans within. Two upstairs. He was there in a blink, pulling up a man and woman by their hands and covering them in Grace for protection. Sam then turned to the widow, a coat of flames in His wake. With a solid punch, the window was flung from its frame to shatter below. Gathering the two humans in His arms, He jumped and landed with a soft thump on the ground below.

The woman was screaming, words indecipherable for a long moment before Sam realized she was speaking another language. Like a switch flipped, He suddenly understood her.

"My baby! My baby is inside!" she screeched, arms flailing towards the burning building.

Sam released a pained breath.

He had only felt two souls in the house.

His eyes burned and his breath was choked as he understood what had happened.

He ran back in anyway, upstairs and to the other room which had been completely engulfed in flame. Pain not caused by any fire scorched its way through Him as He felt the imprint of pain in the room. He stepped through the flames and to the consumed crib, fire dying as He picked up what was there.

Sam's steps were heavy and hurting as he walked from the house, cradling the bundle in His arms.

The Mother and Father screamed when they saw him, rushing forward and falling to their knees in anguish. Sam hurt all over, tears streaming down his eyes as he held what he knew had once been a bouncing baby boy. He wept with them and for them.

His Grace _burned_.

His Grace _did not accept this_.

HE DID NOT ACCEPT THIS!

With burning, hateful eyes, Sam looked up at the gathered mob, who collectively took a step back.

" **W H Y** " The earth shook as He spoke, fury lacing his voice like a poison.

No spoke.

" ** _W H Y?_** " He screamed, wind picking up. The house behind Him extinguished like a candle in hurricane winds, the sudden plunge of darkness rattling the mob.

"T-They pray to a false god!" a voice from the back said. "We must purge the world of the non-believers!"

Sam took a look at the couple at His feet, noted their darker complexions and covered hair. His eyes burned brighter, light bleeding from His mouth as He spoke.

" **YOU THINK IT IS YOUR RIGHT TO JUDGE. THAT YOUR BELIEF IS RIGHTEOUS WHEN IT LEADS TO THIS."** Sam's voice boomed across the yard, loud enough the whole town could hear.

" **YOU ARE NOT RIGHTEOUS, YOU ARE FILTH WHO USE RELIGION TO JUSTIFY BIGOTRY. IF WHAT YOU BELIEVE IN LEADS YOU TO HATE AND MURDER, FIND SOMETHING ELSE TO BELIEVE IN. FOR I WOULD NOT WANT THE LIKES OF YOU BEFOULING HONEST FAITH!"**

Rage!

ANGER!

That is all Sam felt now! How dare they! How dare these humans do this in His name!

 _!_

A sob broke through His unending rage and He looked down, to the parents of the lost child. He felt His rage cool to a low boil, simmering under the surface.

He kneeled next to the couple, eyes still glowing.

"I'm so sorry." He whispered to them, voice still resonating with Grace. He looked down at the bundle in His arms, tears coming back into His eyes as He did.

He had to try. He _had_ to.

Even if it gave Him away, _He had to try_.

Closing His eyes, Sam leaned forward and placed a kiss against the forehead of the child. He let His Grace pulse into them, hundreds of hands reaching outward, upward, up up up _up_.

A breath passed, a flash of crimson feathers and a kaleidoscope of colors danced across His perception, smooth metal under His many hands and something soft, warm and small scooped into one.

He felt someone's happiness and elation. Feathers under His fingers, blue electricity dancing up His palm. Crooned words of praise tickled Him, fluttering along past His perception like butterflies. Love, so much love sent to Him, for Him...

Back.

Back.

Time to go back.

Hands pulling inwards, pulling down; cradled, cocooned, carried, held.

Once again hidden.

Sam came back to himself with a gasp, eyes dimming as he did.

He looked down at the child in his arms, bright brown eyes staring up at him with a gummy smile. Chubby fingers reached out with a coo, and Sam kissed each one with happy tears in his eyes.

The area was silent as Sam gave the parents their revived son, the parents sobbing and praising him, bowing their heads to the ground where they knelt as they rocked their son between them.

He gave them a watery smile, "Your belief is not wrong. Live through love and you will see paradise." he spoke in their language, surprising even himself. They cried more, thanking him over and over. Sam was tired now, wishing to go back to his church and sleep the night and next day away. But he was not done. Not yet.

Sam turned to the mob, eyes sparking into light once again.

"BY MY POWER" His voice boomed once more, rattling windows and doors in their frame. " _NONE OF YOU_ SHALL ENTER THE GATES OF HEAVEN."

Screams of anguish and despair settled over the crowd, but Sam felt no remorse. Many fell to their knees, begging for mercy and repentance, tears and snot covering their faces as they groveled.

Sam wondered how much the family behind Him had groveled just the same in the face of this mob. Forced to their knees to plead for their life and the life of their son and had been met with cruelty.

Sam made a small, tiny note that if they truly repented then perhaps they would be forgiven. But, in the face of no reward for their good deeds at the end, what good could He expect from them? To be truly selfless with no payout? He had doubts this group would be good for the sake of being good, but He had to have a little hope.

With a snap of His fingers, the house that had been burnt behind Him was once again whole and Sam was gone.

Sam did as he thought. Slept all night and well into the next day. He slept so deeply, his powers exhausted. He had definitely overdone it.

And that night, he dreamt once again.

Pale, soft hands held him from behind, hugging and caressing him like a lover would.

Sam turned over, looking at the vision of what once was. Smooth, soft skin, bright eyes and long, sweet smelling hair. Sam's heart ached in remembrance.

"Jess," he breathed out.

"Hello Sam."

 _WRONG_

 _ALL WRONG!_

Sam skittered backwards as fast as he could as his Grace screamed at him. He could hear the voices, the layered voices. Jess's and someone else's.

" _Lucifer_ "

AN: WOOO only a month between updates, heeellll yea. new record for me XD

PS. I LOVE REVIEWS


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